


Fortuna Major (Or Whatever The Password Was)

by thebureauisclosed (insibbegerest)



Series: Fortuna Major [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Again sort of, Animus goes crazy, Banters and sassiness, Crack, Cuddling, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Shaun being a nerdy little shit, Time Travel, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-11 04:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3313274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insibbegerest/pseuds/thebureauisclosed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desmond looked tired as hell, but there’s nothing new or unexpected about that. For quite some time already, he’s been giving the impression of not knowing what sleep was, dark circles forming under his eyes, voice full of exhaustion. I’d feel sorry for him were I not as world-weary as he and had I the time to feel sorry for anyone. I am way too busy to empathise with others and play babysitter („Oooh, poor you, lie down and I’ll make some tea for you and everything is going to be wonderful again! Let’s hold hands and ride off into the sunset on a unicorn’s back!“)<br/>/This work contains sass, terrible weather, various pop-culture references, purple geese and stolen hats. You've been warned./</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> The lack of Shaundes fanfiction on the Interent saddens me, which is why I had to start writing one myself. I am no masterful storyteller, but hey, at least I've tried!  
> (Also, sorry for the mistakes, couldn't find a beta-reader. If anyone is willing to help me out with this monster, HERE I AAAM!)

_Mehmet Demir added 2 photos of you._

_Mehmet Demir added 3 photos of you._

_Mehmet Demir added 6 photos of you._

_Mehmet Demir added 9 photos of you._

Nine photos already? Oh, brilliant. How I love this job (Can you hear, or rather feel, the irony in my voice, or rather handwriting? I hope you can.). I clicked on the link to see what these certainly flattering photos of me actually depicted, hoping there were no purple geese again.

Alright, no geese involved this time, Mehmet picked a goat instead. Nine pictures of goats with glasses that were, according to sir Mehmet, me. Can you hear the man‘s whiny voice pleading to be punished for his stupidity? Because I can hear it _very clearly_ and believe me, revenge is coming and it is going to be sweet.

Okay, we’ve used geese, goats and camels already, what else is there? Perhaps a donkey might be fitting. I googled pictures of donkeys, saved the weirdest ones and proceeded to upload them into a newly created album named _My dearest friend Mehmet._

 

_You added 10 photos of Mehmet Demir._

This is starting to be fun.

„Shaun!“ Rebecca shouted. „What the hell are you doing?“

„Remember how I was supposed to forward some reports to the Turkish assassins? 

„Yeah, I think so. Why?“

„Weeell, I might have forgotten to send them in time.“

Rebecca sighed, „Shaun...“

„What? I have too much work to do, I can’t remember every single task! Anyway, they _did_ receive the reports. Eventually.“

„I see. And what does that have to do with donkeys?“

„Everything, Rebecca dear, everything,“ I said mysteriously. „One of our Turkish colleagues got angry, wrote several rude e-mails to me and tagged me in these geese photos. I am merely repaying him for it, he’s the one who started it.“

„ _He’s the one who started it,“_ Rebecca mocked. „Reminds me of good old kindergarten times.“

„Shut up, Rebecca.“

Rebecca chuckled and returned to her work. So did I. We remained in comfortable silence, that is, until Desmond sat up, getting out of the animus after approximately 20 hours of hanging around with the 18th century templar boyband.

„Hello there Desmond, how are we doing today?“  I greeted him.

Desmond looked tired as hell, but there’s nothing new or unexpected about that. For quite some time already, he’s been giving the impression of not knowing what sleep was, dark circles forming under his eyes, voice full of exhaustion. I’d feel sorry for him were I not as world-weary as he and had I the time to feel sorry for anyone. I am way too busy to empathise with others and play babysitter („ _Oooh, poor you, lie down and I’ll make some tea for you and everything is going to be wonderful again! Let’s hold hands and ride off into the sunset on a unicorn’s back!“)_

„My head hurts like hell,“ Desmond replied with a sigh. „How are things here going?“

„Great,“ said Rebecca. „We are working hard, especially Shaun is.“

Desmond smirked, „Having another friendly conversation with the guys from Turkey going on, is he?“

I wisely chose to ignore that question. „What about Haytham and company?“

„Oh, right! There’s something I wanted to discuss with you, something related to one of Haytham’s acquaintances. Does the name Liam Whelan ring any bells?“

Whelan, Whelan... The surname sounded familiar to me, for reasons yet unknown. „Not really.“

„He kinda looked like you and I had this... weird feeling  when I was... when Haytham was around him,“ Desmond corrected himself quickly.

I crinkled my nose, „I am sure this bloke was irresistibly hot, but please, the next time you get _weird feelings_ while around people who remind you of me, could you keep it to yourself?“

„Not _that_ kind of weird feeling, you prick!“ Desmond shouted at me, but there was no sign of real anger in his voice. „I felt like I knew him. Which is weird, since I’m pretty sure I don’t go to pub with people who were buried centuries ago.“

„Perhaps this wasn’t the first time Haytham met the guy,“ said Rebecca, joining our conversation. „That’s why he seems familiar.“

„That’s not it, I know for sure they’d never met before, Haytham himself said so,“ Desmond shook his head and drew one of the chairs in the temple nearer, so that he could sit next to Rebecca.

„Right. And we believe Haytham’s every word,“ said Rebecca, the master of irony.

„He wasn’t lying. Have you forgotten I’ve been spending most of my time inside his head?“

I had to comment on that, „When you say it like that, it sounds slightly creepy.“

„You tell me. Back to the point, I’d bet my shoes that this guy was your ancestor.“

„Not a very smart decision, consedering these filthy trainers are the only shoes you have in here. Your toes would turn into icicles without them on. Speaking of which, I regret not packing a warmer jumper. Damn.“

„I’d expect you to tolerate extreme weather without any problems, what with all the awful rainy and windy days in England.“

„No no, you must be confusing England with Norway, sweet beautiful London is nowhere near as cool as this hellhole.“

„Sweet and beautiful? Is that city your girlfriend?“

„I highly doubt he'd say such nice words about an actual living person,“ Rebecca grinned.

I wanted to come up with a witty remark that would leave them defeated and open-mouthed, but before I got to say a word, Desmond started talking again, „Shaun, would you mind doing some research on the Whelan guy for me?“

„I would mind, but I'll do it anyway. Providing you with information happens to be a big part of my daily work, I am afraid.“

„Thanks, now I'll just... take some rest.“

„Of course,“ said Rebecca kindly, „you deserve it.“

And what about me, don't I deserve some bloody rest? I'll let you know I deserve all the rest in the world, I stare at this laptop from dawn to dusk and does anyone even appreciate it? No. It's always Desmond this, Desmond that... Shaun? Who the heck is Shaun, I've never heard of him! Wait, are you talking about the sheep? Oh, the sheep I like! It's so fluffy, I used to own a Shaun the sheep toy, it was seated comfortably on my pillow and watched over me while I was sleeping. Besides, I loved cuddling with it. Ugh.

All these reports I've sent, all these computers I've hacked, all these database entries I've created for Desmond... And guess what I get for being a history book on two legs? Ungrateful snarky remarks, that's what! Would it kill those two to show some respect?

I suppose it would.

Sometimes I hate my life. And when I say sometimes, I mean I hate every bloody minute of it.


	2. Day Two

I woke up all sore and disoriented. Who am I, where am I, where is my mum? Okay, not the mum part because I am an independant grown-up, but you got the message.

I felt even more tired than most mornings, which is something coming from an almost-insomniac. I wonder how well YOU would sleep if the world was falling apart and its fate was lying on your and your friends' shoulders. No one needs that. I am a historian, not an action hero... Although I must admit saving people and fighting for their freedom has its merits.

„Morning, sunshine,“ Rebecca yelled cheerily. Where does her good mood come from? Can I get some as well? Hello sir shop assistant, two pounds of happiness, please. Do you accept Mastercard?

„Mrrrrnin,“ I said, or rather attempted to. My face was still glued to the desk and I was worried that if I tried to sit up, I'd break a bone or two.

„Have you finished the database entry for Desmond? He's back in the animus now.“

„Of course! I managed to magically finish it in my sleep,“ I growled. Rebecca can ask the dumbest questions. No, wait, that would be our my-ancestors-were-more-badass-than-yours man. Both of them ask the dumbest question, end of story. In moments like these I miss Lucy, she didn't test my patience 24/7. Jokes aside, I do actually miss her a bit, she used to be our partner in crime, after all. Or so we had believed before finding out about her true allegiances. Fine, she sided with the templars who sort of are our arch enemies and our orders sort of try to destroy one another, but it's still hard for me to see her as the big cruel villain and hold grudges against her. She was the Harry to Rebecca's Ron and my Hermione (what does that make Desmond, Ginny? Neville? Mrs. Norris?)

(Juno is definitely Trelawney, have you ever listened to her cryptic rubbish? And Vidic is Umbridge, no need to explain that one. It's their shared passion for pink clothes, obviously.)

(This, boys and girls, is why I shouldn't have read the Harry Potter series three times. Books are bad for your sanity.)

Rebecca must have noticed I acted even grumpier than usual and she stayed silent, for which I was deeply grateful. Calm, silence and strong painkillers are the best treatment for headache (excluding death, death is the best treatment for everything); recommended by eight out of ten doctors plus one hot nurse and one crazy spirit healer, but let's not talk about him.

When I gathered up the courage and inner strength to sit up and stretch myself, my back replied with a nasty cracking noise. Thank god I won't live to a ripe old age, I'd become one of those old grouchy grandpas who keep complaining about poor health and who can barely walk. And when they _do_ walk, they stoop so much their noses almost brush against their insteps.

I swallowed two painkillers and turned the laptop on. The blank Word page was staring at me accusingly. An irritated groan escaped my mouth as I returned to doing research.

Many agonising minutes later, the entry was written. I was loathe to admit that Desmond's 'weird feeling' was entirely justified, in all probability this Whelan person and I were distantly related. Halfway through the research, I remembered that the surname had sounded familiar because it also belonged to my grand-aunt, may she rot in hell forever. Homophobic bitch if I've ever encountered one. I admit, boobs do nothing for me, now everyone judge me, let out the horrified gasps and throw your tomatoes. I am used to it by now and for your information, I give the exact amount of zero fucks.

I added an article titled 'Liam Whelan' to the animus database and checked the screen showing Desmond's progress as Haytham. Good, he was chilling around, not in the middle of a fight; I could talk to him for a while.

„It's Christmas! Desmond was right for once, about the Whelan thing, I mean. Just don't get too smug about it, I am still the intelligent one, sorry to break your little bubble,“ I said to the animus.

„It really is Christmas; Shaun Hastings admitted he was mistaken,“ was Desmond's reaction.

„Yeah, yeah, whatever. Shall I fetch a Christmas tree?“

„A fake one, I'm not gonna clean the fucking mess.“

Rebecca, amused by our conversation, jumped in, „What should I get you guys for Christmas then?“

„Buy Shaun a warmer sweater, he confided in me that he desperately wanted one because of the lack of Norwegian blood in his veins,“ replied Desmond.

„What?“ Rebecca said.

„Piss off, Desmond,“ I said. Desmond responded with a smirk. I hate that sod, sometimes I want to wipe the smile off of his face with a hidden blade. I despise killing people and try to avoid it as much as possible, but I might make and exception this once. What a shame we need Desmond alive. Curse him and his heritage.

Rebecca changed the topic,  „Haytham seems pretty bored at the moment, you’d think the templar grandmaster doesn’t have much free time on his hands, but evidently, he does.“

„He’s waiting for Whelan, they have an appointment,“ Desmond explained. „Whelan claims to have gained information on the location of a Piece of Eden.“

„What?“ A frown appeared on Rebecca’s face. „Another piece of Eden?“

„I assume he’s bluffing and so does Haytham. That guy isn’t to be trusted,“ said Desmond.

Desmond was right about that. From what I’ve read, my ancestor acted like a real dick. He wasn’t either an assassin or a templar, instead, he was an individual interested only in the contents of his wallet. He put a bullet through a young woman’s head for five frigging pounds! And Desmond calls _me_ an arsehole. Can’t say it makes me happy to be a part of the Irishman’s extended family tree.

Liam John Whelan, an Ireland-born gentleman, saw the light of the day for the first time on the 10th March of 1728. His mummy earned money by doing the world’s oldest profession, his daddy unknown, probably one of her customers. Albeit poor, Liam was a bright fellow who boarded a ship to America as a black passenger in his late teens or early twenties. As delusional people often claim, America is the land of endless possibilities (more like endless debts), which is how after one year Liam nicely lined his pockets. He used any means necessary except  for honest work. At first, he had worked alone, but later he realised he’d use a companion. He joined forces with Samuel Briggs, a former assassin gone rogue, whose heart was as rotten as Whelan’s. There were numerous rumours concerning their relationship; after becoming partners in crime, the two eventually grew... very close, so to speak. The cause of Whelan’s death remains unknown, however, according to some sources he was murdered by a hateful citizen who detested him for his sexual preferences. A funny thing, that. The bloke spent his whole life killing, stealing and deceiving people and what lead him to his demise was making out with some chap in a dark alley. Some believe the killer wasn’t found because there was nothing left of him after Briggs bashed him up. Another theory says that the killer wasn’t found simply because no one bothered to pursue him. Everyone felt too grateful they got rid of Whelan, they didn’t care who knocked him off, as long as they had.

„Do you think Whelan is up to something fishy? Could it be a trap?“ I asked Desmond.

„Most likely,“ he replied, „Haytham expects it. He ordered Lee and Johnson to stay hidden somewhere nearby, observe the situation and intervene if necessary.“

I nodded, „Good precaution. When does this meeting begin?“

„In... twenty minutes or sooner, I guess. You wanna see Whelan?“

„Of course, I am curious. I mean, we are related, even  though very distantly.“

„Yeah,“ said Desmond, „it’s pretty obvious thanks to the fact you’re both such self-centered jerks.“

„Says the one whose great great grandpa was a templar.“

„Boys!“ Rebecca’s voice cut through our quarrel, „be nice to each other.“

„I was being nice until he called me a jerk!“

Rebecca rolled her eyes, „Kindergarten flashbacks strike once again.“

 

xxx

 

After sixteen minutes, Liam Whelan entered the stage. I had to concede his looks were indeed somewhat similar to mine, but I am the handsome one, of course. His hair was the colour of a burning fire, a little longer than mine. I think I cought a glimpse of a thin scar on his chin. I wasn’t entirely sure about it though; I couldn’t examine him properly. His wealth was unquestionable, it took only one glance to notice he must have paid a fortune for such quality clothes. He was clutching a cane with his right hand, yet he moved quickly and effortlessly, the only purpose of the cane seemed to be that of a decoration.

„Good afternoon, mister Kenway,“ said Whelan with a crooked smile that revealed his yellowish teeth. „I believe you are here to talk about the artifact I have found.“

„Exactly,“ Haytham nodded. He didn’t trust Whelan’s intentions one bit, I could tell from the way his eyes narrowed when his gaze grazed the conman’s cleanly shaven face. I wouldn’t trust him either, if only because of the fact that he shares his surname with my least favourite aunt.

„You have arrived on your own, without anyone accompanying you as we’ve agreed on, right?“ Whelan asked, fidgeting with his ebony cane.

„Yes, I have come alone.“

„Have you though?“ The corner of Whelan’s mouth twitched. „It is true that we are alone now, but only because I took care of that.“

 „I beg your pardon?“

„Do you think I would have gotten so far had I not been a cautious man, Kenway? I was born amongst petty thieves and whores and look where I am now! My men found some of your allies kneeling in the bushes and got rid of them,“ said Whelan smugly. Now he had the upper hand over Haytham, whose plan went to shit.

„What have you done to my men?“ Haytham frowned.

„Oh, don’t worry, they’re alive,“ Whelan assured him. „Sam is keeping an eye on them. They will rejoin you after we’re done here.“

„You can’t blame me for bringing backup with me,“ said Haytham, „you’ve earned yourself quite a reputation. Alright, what is it you want to tell me that my men cannot hear?“

„This. SAMUEL!“ Whelan yelled at the top of his lungs.

There was a crackling noise. The picture on the screen faded to black.


	3. Day three

„Negotiating with this man would be pointless, sir,“ said Charles Lee, „he is too unpredictable.“

Haytham nodded, „That he is. What do you suggest then?“

„We should simply retake what belongs to us. Let our blades speak for us,“ said Lee.

„We shouldn’t underestimate Whelan‘s abilities.“

„He is but one man; you are in command of an entire order. We would overpower him.“

„We would?“ Haytham raised an eyebrow.

„Yes,“ said Lee with confidence.

Haytham started pacing around the tavern in circles, engrossed in his thoughts. „We need to come up with a plan,“ he said finally. „That... friend of his, Samuel Briggs, is a skilled fighter. Without his help, Whelan wouldn’t have been able to lure me into a trap and rob me off the key.“

Well Haytham, you shouldn’t have let Liam capture your templar mates and knock you out. Okay, it wasn’t he who knocked you out, he had to call his boyfriend to do it in his stead, but who cares. Next time you should actually _prepare_ yourself before meeting a dangerous opponent.

Rebecca and I were currently watching the templar grandmaster  and his moustached sidekick as they were attempting to find a way to get out of the pickle they got themeselves in. Rebecca stuffed her mouth with popcorn and offered me some, too.

„You do realise this is an important historical moment and not an action film?“ I asked her.

„Blah blah. Doesn’t mean I have to starve while watching it.“

I didn’t say anything and stole some of her popcorn. It was cheese flavoured and its scent was so strong even people outside of the temple must have been able to smell it.

And right then, when the „action film“ was starting to get interesting, Desmond decided it was a good moment to leave the animus.

„Desmond!“ Rebecca cried. „I’ve only eaten half of my popcorn!“

„Shaun seems keen on helping you with it,“ Desmond pointed out, „and I’ve been in that machine for way too long. I’d go totally nuts if I stayed there for another hour. Where’s dad?“

„Gone out to get us some food,“ said Rebecca, „he should return soon.“

„Okay. Well, if he comes back and complains about me sleeping again instead of losing my mind in the Animus, could you two tell him to go fuck himself?“

„I’ll pass the message,“ Rebecca grinned.

„Thanks, Becca. You’re a true friend.“

„Oh, I know. You’re lucky to have me.“

 

xxx

 

After finishing my assignments, I checked on Rebecca, who had been strangely silent the whole time. She was kneeling next to the animus. „Running some updates on that piece of junk?“

„You can’t call baby that!“ Rebecca yelled. „It’ll hear you and take offence.“

„It’s not actually alive, it is a device.“

„You know nothing, Shaun Hastings.“

„Yeah, say what you will, Ygritte Crane.“

„Anyway, I _have_ been running updates, awesome updates! And you’ll get to fulfil one of your old wishes.“

„What do you mean by that?“

„You’ll be able to join Desmond in the animus.“

What? „What?“

„For someone so clever you can be so dumb,“ Rebecca shook her head. „One of your ancestors, Liam Whelan, had met Haytham and robbed him of the key, so I figured it might be useful to browse his memories, too. I have found a way to connect you to the animus while Desmond’s running around in Haytham’s boots.“

Rebecca was right when she mentioned that I’ve always wanted to try out the animus myself, but... it was just as scary as it was exciting. Besides, Whelan’s head must have been a real mess, considering what kind of life the crook led.

„And you think this is a good idea?“ I asked.¨

„Yep, having more points of view should be beneficial for us. So? Are you willing to get down to it or are you too much of a chicken?“

I am not the chicken of this order, Mehmet Demir is. Seven photos of said chicken, actually. I wonder what his reaction to those will be. Yes, the war between England and Turkey continues and is not going to end anytime soon.  „Don’t call me a coward! I can give it a go.“

Rebecca patted my shoulder, „Good boy.“

„I am not a dog,“ I frowned.

„Yeah, unfortunately. Dogs don’t speak.“

„Shut up or I’ll change my mind.“

Rebecca raised her hands in a gesture of defeat, „Silent like a grave. Should I wake Desmond?“

„Yes, you should have woken him at least an hour ago. He’s been drooling on the desk, it’s quite disgusting.“

„DESMOND!“ Rebecca yelled, her face right next to Desmond’s ear. He’s  a lucky man if he didn’t go deaf. „WAKE UP!“

Desmond immediately sprang to his feet, „What? What’s happeniang?“

„Baby is waiting for you,“ Rebecca said sweetly. So sweetly I could imagine her lurking next to a primary school entrance and offering little girls or boys delicious sweets.

„Yeah, fine.“

„And guess what, Shaun will be joining you.“

„What?“ Desmond fixed his eyes on me.

I waved at him. „Hello there, Desmond, I can see you are overjoyed.“

„Shaun is going with me?“ Desmond repeated stupidly. „But how?“

Rebecca said, „I am a genius and I’ve made some adjustments. It’ll connect the both of you. Amazing, huh?“

„So, Shaun will be the Liam to my Haytham?“

„Exactly,“ Rebecca nodded, obviously very proud of her skills. „Let’s try it out, now! I need to see how it works.“

 

xxx

 

 „What the fuck.“ Ah, Desmond’s good old catchphrase returns. I had to agree with the sentiment though – what the fuck was happening?

„You look nothing like Haytham,“ I pointed my index finger at him accusingly.

„And you look nothing like Liam Whelan,“ Desmond stated the obvious. „Something’s wrong.“

„Oh, really? I wouldn’t have guessed.“

The city around us was without any doubt Boston from two and half a century ago. Our surroundings have changed, but we haven’t. I was very much myself – I still possessed my body, my clothes, my memories. The same applied to Desmond, he looked way too... desmond-ish to be a thirty year old British templar. The short dark hair, the lip scar, the white hoodie and the lack of a majestic hat? Nope, definitely not Haytham.

Desmond yelled, „Becca! In Altaïr’s words – what sorcery is this?“

„Ahem.“ Since I am more or less fluent in the Rebecca dialect, I can translate this for you. In this case, ahem means „I don't know what‘s going on, but we are definitely fucked“.

„Can you set this right?“ I said, somewhat irritated. Of course the animus would break down on the one day I am using it.

„Sure, I will fix it, but it's gonna take a while. The way I see it, the animus was unable to load the memories and only created a simulation of Boston without its inhabitants. You're a historian, Shaun, perhaps you'd like to take a look around while your mind is still located in your own body and you don't have to deal with redcoats pointing their muskets at you?“

„I'd like that,“ I agreed, „but please, try to repair... baby as soon as possible, we need it to function properly before everyone on Earth dies. Not that it's a big deal or anything.“

„Like I don't know that, you don't have to keep reminding me.“

„So sorry about that.“

„Fake apology accepted. Well, it's been nice talking to you boys, but I have an animus to fix, so... Have fun while I'm on it!“

„You too, Becca,“ Desmond spoke.

There was silence. „So,“ Desmond broke it, „let's have a quick look around?“

„Right,“ I said and followed Desmond, who had already set off.

The sky was getting darker as the night was approaching Boston, soon to fully cover it with its impenetrable black veil. I was cold, because I only had a light jumper on, however, the weather was much warmer than you'd expect on a winter evening. No rain, no snow, just cool December wind.

Still, the positives outweighed the negatives. Rebecca was right, how many people in my field of work get the opportunity to go on a walk through history? At first, the dark was pissing me off because it prevented me from seeing much of what was around me, but eventually, I took a liking to the grim atmosphere. It was nice and peaceful, which cannot be said about the majority of my life.

„See that building?“ I said, pointing at a distant house.

Desmond nodded, „Yeah, what about it?“

„That unsightly heap of bricks is what we today call the Pierce House. It’s nothing special, really, just a box with a rooftop thrown onto it, but the citizens of Massachusetts love it. Nearly all of the other constructions in our range of vision have turned to dust. However, this one endured. The Pierce family had it built in 1683. Mummy and daddy Pierce left the house to their children, the children to their children and so on, ten generations of Pierces  have resided there, can you imagine? Ten generations. No idea what attracted them to this place so much.“

„If they bought a house like this, I’m pretty sure they were moneybags. And Boston was a great spot for the rich.“

„True, true. The perfect place for wealthy white men.“

„What place isn’t perfect for wealthy white men? Shit!“

„What?“ I turned my head in the same direction as he to see the 'shit' that had startled him.

„Bollocks,“ was my contribution.

We were gaping at a thirty-something woman in a plain blue dress who was striding across the street and muttering something angrily under her breath.

„What the fuck,“ Desmond uttered for the second time that day. „Wasn't this place supposed to be uninhabited? Generated by the animus?“

„Seems like it's not the case. We should hide before she spots us and assumes we're a couple of stalkers in strange clothes.“

Desmond agreed, examined our surroundings and moved away from the woman's eyesight. I followed him to a remote alleyway.

„Do you think there are other people, not just her?“ asked Desmond.

„Possibly.“

„What are they, how did they get here? Can they see us? Why can’t we access the memory core?“

„Desmond...“ I sighed. „This might come as a shock, but I am not a god and therefore I don't know the answer to each and every question. My knowledge is limited.“

„Rebecca!“ Desmond turned his attention to the other assassin after finding out I’d be of no use to him at the moment. „About a minute ago, we walked past a woman.“

„Yeah, I am aware,“ Rebecca’s voice resonated as though she was speaking into a loudhailer. Why has Desmond never mentioned how odd it is to talk to someone outside of the animus, someone whose face you can‘t even look at? Rebecca sounded like a divine voice from above. „Okaaay, your fake Boston isn’t as desolate as I reckoned, sorry about that. I don’t dare guess how these people, or whatever they are, might react to you, so better avoid them for the time being.“

„And how long will the ‚time being‘ last? Shouldn’t you be finishing the repairs already?“ I wanted to know.

„It’s not that simple!“ The Loud Godly Voice Coming From Everywhere aka Rebecca Crane shouted. „I can’t figure out what’s wrong, I am unable to change the settings and I can’t unplug you two. It’s like baby got ill.“

„Then cure it, please, I don’t care if you read it bedtime stories or threaten it, find a solution quickly so that we don’t stay here forever. Whatever _here_ means.“

„I am doing my best. And now shut up, okay? I need to concentrate on this if I am to get you out sometime during this century.“

I should have bought a warmer jumper, seriously. If I keep walking outside dressed like this, the flu will arrive to say a cheery hello to me. The frown on Desmond’s face clearly showed that he shared the feeling.

„We should find a hideaway before we freeze to death,“ Desmond suggested as though he could read my thoughts.

„Yeah. But where? We have no clue if any of these houses are abandoned.“

„Maybe that woman we saw was just a glitch, maybe she’s the only one here,“ said Desmond. „I’ll knock on that door,“ he pointed at a random building nearby. „If someone opens it, I’ll apologise and tell them I had the wrong address or something and we’ll come up with a plan B. If there’s no reaction, we’ll break in and stay overnight. Any objections?“

I couldn’t think of anything else we could try. „No. But if we run into the house owner while breaking in and they shoot us dead...“

„...it is my fault, I know. Whatever. This is the animus, we can’t actually bite the dust.“

„Are you absolutely sure? Because this is different, you aren’t Haytham Kenway, you are you. It wouldn’t make sense for you to desynchronise when there are no memories to act in accordance with.“

„None of this is making any sense,“ Desmond laughed helplessly. „Would you stop arguing with me over everything and trust me, just this once? If we keep loitering around here, we’ll turn into big angry ice cubes.“

Okay, maybe he had a point. „Fine. Go knock on that door, I’ll... wait here and cover you.“

Desmond smirked, „Cover me. I see.“

He marched to the door and knocked three times. No answer. He was about to give me a smug smile and kick out the door, I could see it in his eyes, but he didn’t get to do it. Just when he was turning his head to look at me, someone threw the door open.

„What do you want?“ A tall fellow with greasy blond hair snarled at Desmond. It was evident he wasn’t having the best of days and no one in their right mind would disturb him.

„This has to be the wrong address, sorry I bothered you,“ said Desmond, slowly withdrawing.

The man examined him closely with a frown on his face. „What the hell are you wearing? Are you one of those street comedians?“

Desmond shook his head, „No, sir. Sorry, I really have to go, I... have a meeting. See you.“  Then he ran off so quickly the man immediately lost sight of him. The stranger stood on the threshold for another while longer, looking dumbfounded.

Desmond cleared his throat and I almost jumped up from the shock. The bloody wanker is going to give me a heart attack one day. How and when did he manage to creep behind me?! Must be the ninja skills he inherited from Altaïr. „Was this necessary?“

„Not necessary but definitely amusing. You should have seen your face.“

„Haha, very funny, you dickhead. Well, what’s the plan B? My arse is freezing.“

„Man, I seriously don’t need to be informed about the state of your ass.“

„And I seriously don’t need my arse to be freezing.“

„Whatever. Do _you_ have a plan?“

„That remote building out there could be a barn; unless you can think of something better, we can hide there.“

Not that I was impressed by the concept of wallowing in hay in an ancient barn, but you have to do what you have to do. I can deal with discomfort, I am an assassin, not a sissy, thank you very much.

The first thing Desmond did after we arrived at the barn was... well. That idiot dived into the mound of hay while proclaiming that he was taking a leap of faith. I didn’t know if I should cry, laugh or punch him in his stupid face. I settled on sitting down and burying my head in my palms.

„Okay, that was a dumb joke,“ Desmond admitted, „but you look like you stepped into a wasp nest. I mean, you always kinda look like you’d stepped into one, but...“

„Desmond.“

„What?“

„Could you do me a favour?“

„What favour?“

„For the love of God, shut up.“

Desmond actually obeyed, which was unexpected but welcome. At least for a while. The silence was becoming more annoying than anything else. All I could do was lie in the hay and gaze at the roof. I didn’t have my laptop, I had no books and the boredom was taking over my mind. So was tiredness and grumpiness. Why did I let Rebecca talk me into this? I could be tagging my colleagues in weird photos in place of twiddling my thumbs and shivering with cold.

Just when I thought it could hardly get any worse, it did get worse, naturally. Desmond, who had peacefully fallen asleep beside me, started snoring silently. I felt the urge to put a pillow over my head, then it occured to me there were no pillows or blankets or sheets or _anything._ Only bloody me, all the bloody hay and Desmond bloody Miles. I’ve always had a light sleep and the softest noise would wake me up or prevent me from falling asleep. Why couldn’t I have brought my iPod with me? Better listening to music than to the sound of Desmond’s loud exhaling. And inhaling. And exhaling. And inhaling. And...

I groaned. I swear I am going to kill him in the morning, I swear it on the Queen’s corgis.

The cold was really getting on my nerves,I couldn’t think, I couldn’t sleep. Someone desynchronise me, please. However embarrassing it felt, I shifted closer to Desmond, hoping I’d warm up, at least a little bit.

I don’t know how long it took Desmond to stop snoring, but maybe an hour afterwards, sleep finally found me. I was breathing on Desmond’s neck and one of my arms maybe was and maybe wasn’t thrown over him, but I lost the will to give a shit. For your information, being pressed to someone while sleeping has _nothing_ to do with cuddling when it’s a life threatening situation and you feel like you’re lying in a refrigerator. Remember that.


	4. Day Four

„Can you see the baffled looks people are casting in our direction?“ Desmond asked.

„Can you blame them? I mean, look at us in our modern clothes! We’re like aliens to them. My glasses are definitely a hit.“

„You’re not the only person with glasses living around, remember Franklin.“

„Right, Benjamin Franklin is generally credited with the invention of bifocals. You have spoken to him, haven’t you? Wait... Where are you going, Desmond?“

We were taking a morning walk, both of us had woken up very early that day. The barn proved to be a rather bad sleeping spot. And to think I had been complaining about the temple... I was starting to miss the place.

Maybe it was unwise to abandon the relative safety of the barn, but me and Desmond agreed we’d prefer exploring the streets of Boston to buggering about within numerous piles of hay.

„I’m gonna get us some clothes,“ Desmond answered, heading to a washing line positioned next to a modest family house. On the line were hung various pieces of clothing, both men’s and women’s, even tiny trousers that suggested the presence of a child in the family. Or someone with curiously short child-like legs.

We hid behind the house and changed our clothes. My new stolen shirt was a bit too tight and Desmond kept stumbling over the too long trouser legs, but as they say, you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth or the horse might spit on you.

„Now, take off your glasses,“ Desmond ordered, „the design is too 21st century and you draw attention.“

„Are you sure it’s not just my good looks that draw the attention?“ I joked. To be honest, I wasn’t too keen on disposing of my glasses and becoming a half-blind man. Frankly, it sucks when everythingin your proximity turns into blurred colourful smudges.

„I notice the kind of looks people are giving you. They’re ‚what the fuck‘ looks, not ‚holy shit he’s hot‘ looks. Trust me, I can tell the difference.“

I sighed, „Do you know what my using glasses hints at?“

 „That you’re as blind as a bat?“ Desmond guessed.

„Not very tactfully put but yes, something of that sort.“

„Like you’re ever tactful,“ Desmond snorted. „Just how bad is your eyesight?“

„...not very good,“ I admitted, „which is why I’d rather keep these.“ I tapped at the earpiece of my glasses.

Desmond was thinking (not a very common situation). „Couldn’t you buy another model?“ he proposed.

„Oh, right. Because glasses are so easy to get your hands on these days and our pockets are stuffed with money.“ Which made me realise just how fucked we were. We have illegaly fetched some garment but what about money? Or food? Do we even need food when all of this takes place in our minds? We were poorer than a church mouse, without a single coin to spend. Rebecca had better get us out of here soon. One more night in that bleeding cold barn and my nerves will snap and I’ll set this whole darn city on fire or murder everyone who gets in my way or something similar. A pissed off assassin is best to be avoided, dear children, keep that in your minds.

Desmond said, „Benjamin Franklin invented glasses, as you’ve already pointed out. We could pay him a friendly visit?“

„Right. Two strangers appear at his place and he’ll gladly present them with his favourite invention without asking for a cent in return.“

„Jesus, Shaun, you’re such a cynic.“

„Jesus, Desmond, you’re such a naive little baby.“

„We could say we’re pals of Haytham’s. Or even that he’s the one who sent us.“

What did we have to lose? At worst, Franklin would kick us out and tell us never to speak to him again, which I can live with. I happen to be an insufferable genius myself, don’t need to stay in touch with another. „Fine, let’s go. You remember where we’ll find him?“

„Yeah.“

„Then lead the way.“

And Desmond did. I reluctanly took off my glasses. Oh, great, what a beautiful view! Take a look left, see that big red rectangular blur? Isn’t it wonderful? And how about that yellow circle with a smudgy edge? Damn, I wish I had a camera to capture the extraordinary moment.

As I was fidgeting with the glasses in my hand, my thoughts became focused on what would happen once we returned to reality. I wonder what Juno wants from us, I don’t assume her plan only involves giving us mysterious looks and sending meaningless e-mails. Unless she’s very bored and very touched in that glowing ugly head of hers. Perhaps she...

A PIECE OF ADVICE! Dashing through a place you’ve never visited before while the sky is still relatively dark and you’ve been deprived of your glasses is a bad idea.  Dashing through a place you’ve never visited before while the sky is still relatively dark, you’ve been deprived of your glasses, you’re lost in thought and thoroughly examining your shoes is even worse an idea.

Out of the blue, someone hit me in the head with an anvil, or so it felt. I could almost see the circle of flying stars around my head, as it always happens in animated films when the hero is wounded in an undoubtedly hilarious way. Except there was nothing hilarious about this, the pain nearly pushed me down to my knees. I cursed like a motherfucking sailor, taking a look at what tried to kill me.

What entered my line of sight was no man with an anvil, it was a bloody column. Of all the unbelievable things I’ve survived as a member of the Assassin order, a column gets the closest to taking my life? I refuse to believe that. Everyone present please forget this happened. Are we clear?

„Shit! What was that?!“ Desmond’s eyes widened with shock. „Shaun, are you okay?“

„Not the word I’d use,“ I groaned, „but I’m alive and I consider that to be an achievement. Although... you shouldn’t count your chickens before they are hatched, who knows, internal bleeding could still take me by surprise.“ While babbling on (I don’t even remember all the rubbish I was saying), I kept furiously rubbing the back of my hand against my forehead. As though it could help me.

Desmond’s brow furrowed in concern, „Are you bleeding?“

I put my hand down and I examined it hastily, „No, only my pride is.“

„Don’t worry, no one saw you,“ Desmond reassured me. The corners of his mouth twitched, then he wasn’t able to control himself anymore and started laughing, bastard. „Well... except for me, the old woman across the street, the three men next to her, the...“

„Shut. Up,“ I hissed. „Your parents haven’t taught you you should be kind to unfortunate people in pain?“

The laughter ceased. „No,“ said Desmond bitterly, „my parents taught me how to kill someone instead.“

„That can come in handy, but my point is, if you laugh at me again I’ll punch you.“

„Understood,“ Desmond nodded mockingly. After that, the concerned face made a comeback: „You sure you’re fine?“

I rolled my eyes, „Yes, mother.“

„You were right when you said you can’t see shit without your glasses,“ said Desmond, holding out his hand.

I watched him stupidly. „Erm, if you haven’t noticed, Desmond, I didn’t collapse. I don’t need a helping hand.“

„Right. Listen, Shaun, I’m not gonna let you smash your head against another column and bleed out. It’s still pretty dark and your sight sucks, so just take my hand and cut it.“

„You want to embarrass me as much as possible, don’t you?“

Desmond sighed, „I want to make you as far from dead as possible, does that bother you or what?“ His hand was still outstretched and waiting for me. Not that hands can wait. _Desmond_ was waiting with impatience radiating from his face.

I really hoped my cheeks weren’t turning red when I took his hand. Thankfully, it was still dark and Desmond wasn’t looking at me, he was watching the way (someone has to, Hastings, when you prefer running into random columns). Blast it, now I am the one having kindergarten flashbacks. I am a grown arse adult, I don’t need anyone to mollycoddle me, least of all Desmond.

I cleared my throat, „You know, I doubt 18th century Bostoners would be delighted by the sight of two men holding hands. It might not be the safest thing to do.“

„Safer than letting you kill yourself,“ said Desmond. The sod didn’t sound the least bit awkward, how did he do that? I felt the awkwardness in every single skin pore. When was the last time I was walking hand in hand with someone? Secondary school, perhaps? I remember I fell asleep during Art and someone glued my hand to my classmate’s, if that counts. Not an overly romantic experience, I admit, but neither is this one. To hell with glue and Boston columns.

„My ancestor was killed for being gay,“ I pointed out. „Or queer. Or whatever. I suppose he wasn’t 100% gay if he had children.“

„Or he was gay and got very drunk one night.“

„What does that even matter, I don’t care about the sexuality of my ancestors, why are we even discussing this?“

„Because you’re afraid of touching my hand like I was contagious.“

„I’m not afraid, I just feel like an idiot.“

„Because only idiots hold hands.“

„Do you enjoy turning everything I say against me?“

„Honestly? Yeah. But so do you, admit it.“

„Me? Never.“

„Oh, sorry, forgot you’re a saint,“ Desmond smiled.

Bloody right I am a saint, I’ve voluntarily let the animus fuck with my head, and see where it got me.

Great, I’ve noticed several people giving us either bemused or outright disgusted looks. Like it’s my fault that Desmond doesn’t think I’m capable of taking care of myself! I still own a pair of eyes, even though they don’t work as perfectly as they could.

„That man with the brown hat,“ I muttered, „he won’t stop staring.“

„Jesus, so what? Suddenly you’re so interested in what people think about you?“

„Yes, I am very much interested in what people think about me when the people in question are carrying a gun.“

„Oh.“

„Oh indeed. How long until we reach Franklin’s store?“ My palms were beginning to sweat, the armed man wouldn’t stop gawping and Desmond’s hand was squeezing mine a bit too tight.

„Not too long,“ Desmond reassured me. Finally some good news, praise the Lord.

Thankfully, the armed man took the first left and lost us. I sighed with relief.

„You're not the bravest man alive, huh?“ Desmond said

Bloody wanker, what does he know?! He's one to talk. Here I stood, voluntarily serving the order as the only current member who wasn't born into it. And Desmond, who had blood of the most powerful assassins flowing in his veins and was much more skilled in kicking templar backsides than I am? Fleed as soon as the opportunity arose and hid from his family.

I don't take Desmond for a coward, don't get me wrong, I only take him for someone who enjoys making others‘ lives difficult. But taking his previous experience in consideration, you'd assume he has more understanding for avoiding a violent death.

The two of us rarely see eye to eye. But still, we are allies and... Not exactly mates but something of the sort. Don't you ever dare tell him or Rebecca this, but I confess I treated him much worse than he deserved back when we had met. Not that I turned into his bestest friend forever after that, but he's not that useless when you get to know him better and you get used to him. He's one of those people who grow on you in a way and you don't even notice how or why. Now that I vomited all of this almost nice garbage about him, please, don't start imagining things, okay? I don't have a pink diary where I draw huge hearts with the words 'Mrs. Shaun Miles' (Shaun Miles sounds shitty, though Desmond Hastings is even shittier, just pronouncing it in my mind makes me wince). When it comes to me, warming up to someone means 'not wanting to shoot them in the head on the nearest occassion' instead of 'I want to spend eternity in their loving embrace'. Remember, fighting the bad boys doesn't make me a hero or any less of an antisocial arsehole. I am who I am. In the words of Lady Gaga - 'I was born this way, baby'.

Where were we? Oh, what kind of a question is that... Arguing, obviously.

„This is called caution, not cowardice. You have no idea how many times I've risked my life, so keep your insults to yourself.“

„Hey, I was just kidding, didn't mean anything by it,“ said Desmond. „I know you've sacrificed a lot for the assassins. Mind you, so have I. I don't deserve much of the shit you give me either.“

I let go of Desmond's hand to be able to put it over my heart while sighing melodramatically. „Oh, I am so sorry, Desmond, I never meant to cause you any pain with my words. Could you find it in your heart to forgive me?“

„Fuck you.“

I couldn't help but snort at that and so did Desmond. If Rebecca was here, she'd probably bring up nursery school memories again. Go stuff yourself, imaginary Rebecca, no one cares.

We arrived at Franklin's and walked in, frowning dangerously like two tough mobsters.

I should have prepared a speech instead of busying myself with useless thoughts. But this train has already left the station. I'll have to brush up my improvisation skills.

...or not. I couldn't miss the flash of fear in Franklin's eyes as he slowly said: „Liam Whelan. I'd recognise that face anywhere, although we haven't met in a while.“

Really, you'd recognise the face anywhere? Mate, there's a thing or two I should tell you.

Franklin continued, „A new haircut, I see?“ He paused. „But I don't suppose you came for small talk. What do you want?“

 How did he and my arsehole of an ancestor even meet? Judging by the nervosity written in Franklin's face, they weren't on the best of terms. Damn. What should I say now? How should I act? I know next to nothing about the man he takes me for. „Maybe I stopped by to greet an old friend and chat about the weather,“ I went with irony.

„Well then, should I put a kettle on?“ Franklin laughed. „No, seriously. You always want something and where you appear, trouble follows your footsteps. And I prefer staying out of trouble, so tell me how. I'm sure we'll find a compromise, no need to blackmail me.“

Blackmail, I see. I tried to look as intimidating as my facial muscles allowed. „Good, I knew you'd be reasonable. Fact is, I need your help.“

„With?“

„A man like me needs sharp senses, but my eyes have been failing me lately. I rely on my sight too much to afford such problems. I can guarantee you that if you solve this for me, my feet will never overstep your threshold again.“ What a brilliant liar I make.

„Glasses? Is that all you came for?“ Franklin didn’t bother to hide his surprise.

„Yes.“

„That's... an unexpected request. How bad is your eyesight?“

What kind of question is that, if I say three dioptres, he won't have the faintest clue what I'm talking about. „Could be worse, I suppose, but I have problems recognising faces and noticing details.“

Franklin disappeared and when he returned, he was carrying a small wooden crate with glasses and other optical devices. „Try some on.“

So I did. It took me a while to choose glasses that didn't make everything around me even blurrier. When we were finished, my eyes stung with tears.

„These are acceptable,“ I said. When I say acceptable, I truly mean acceptable, not perfect. Desmond was trying hard not to laugh, the jerk. Yeah, Desmond, I know I look like a total moron, now stay quite and leave me alone before I murder you.

Once we left the place, Desmond let out the laughter he had been holding. „Shit, you look exactly like my elementary school geography teacher with those glasses. His name was Mr. Simmons, aren't you related?“

„Piss off.“

Rebecca, I am begging you – GET ME OUT OF HERE!


	5. Day Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for all the mistakes; I've been too tired and lazy to read it through. Sorry. Please don't hate me.  
> (This is why I need a beta, lol)

Except for the Franklin business, yesterday was mostly uneventful and as dull as a day in past Boston can get. We spent it wandering about, discussing  various unimportant stuff, stealing food from a drunk sleeping man in the inn and sleeping in the frigging barn. The coldness never left, it felt like it was contained in every single stem of hay. I was breathing on my joined hands, foolishly hoping it would warm them up, at least a little. That afternoon, we passed another washing line and couldn’t help it but appropriate two coats and a holey blanket. I mean, isn’t that how things work in America – arriving, pointing at something, declaring it to be yours and getting away with it? The whole history of the country in a nutshell. Anyway, we shared the blanket; it didn’t really make a difference though, except for the fact that it’s simpler to inconspicuously not-cuddle under it.

To cut it short – tomorrow was pleasantly boring. Today, on the other hand? You wouldn’t believe the shit Desmond makes me go through.

„Desmond,“ I hissed, sitting on the rooftop behind him and mentally struggling not to push him down, „this really isn’t...“

„Yes, it is necessary! You kept complaining about how much you need the fucking hat and you were irritating as hell. Therefore I am getting the hat for you to shut you up.“

I might have been a tad annoying, that’s true, but again, I was only being my cautious self. We met two people who ‚recognised‘ Whelan when cathing the sight of me and they expressed their bafflement over my uncommon cut and the colour of my hair („Liam, mate, the last time I met you, your head still looked like it was on fire! You look weird.“). Pretending to be Whelan has proven to be an effective method of surviving these times and gaining whatever we needed because everyone obviously respected the man (and therefore respected me). It should come as no shock that I’d prefer not to be revealed as a fake. Besides, I don’t even want to imagine what the real Liam Whelan would do to me after finding out I had been interpersonating him. I repeated a few times to Desmond that a hat might come in handy to hide my hair, he got upset and we ended up here, on the rooftop.

Oh, and the most important thing – on the way here, Desmond borrowed a fishing rod. We couldn’t have just taken the hat from a sleeping person. No, we had to climb up this bloody building and have Desmond brandish the fishing rod while trying to catch the headwear of a passing redcoat. Okay, maybe I should really stop pissing him off because it seems that if I keep doing it, he’ll intentionally get us gunned down for something similarly risky and insane.“

„Desmond,“ I tried again, „climb down this fucking roof or I swear to God...“

„It’s not like you believe in God, anyway,“ Desmond stated.  The fishhook lightly grazed the hat.

„Fair enough. I swear to Tom Baker I’ll strangle you.“

„Who is Tom Baker?“

I stared at him in horror. „Did you not have a childhood? What did you watch before going to bed?“

„Ninja Turtles, Spider-Man... That kind of crap.“

I shook my head. „The youngsters these days know zilch about quality science-fiction.“

„Youngsters? You’re about my age.“

„Whatever. Now, can you put the fishing rod away, please?“ 

The fishing rod got stuck, as though the traitorous thing could hear me. „A bit too late for that,“ Desmond shrugged and lifted his arm quickly. The hat circumscribed a beautiful curved line while whizzing through the air and afterwards, landed on the rooftop behind us.

„I hate you,“ I said.

„You’re welcome,“ said Desmond, placed the hat on my head and elegantly jumped off the roof.

 

xxx

 

As we were walking back, all of sudden Desmond turned his back to me and jumped at someone behind me. What the hell? I looked at what was happening and saw Desmond fighting with... Shit, was that Haytham Kenway?! How in seven hells did he find us and why was Desmond kicking him in his knee and trying to disarm him? Obviously, Haytham wouldn’t tolerate that, parried the blow and knocked Desmond to the ground. Desmond’s fingers quickly grasped the collar of Haytham’s  coat and pulled the grandmaster down with him, which resulted in me having a great view of the templar-assassin freestyle wrestling match. Well this is fucked up.

„Stop this,“ hissed Haytham, while Desmond was struggling to get on top of him (don’t you just love those sentences that would sound so very interesting if taken out of context?), „we can talk.“

„Can we now?“ Desmond sneered at him. „When I heard you rushing towards us and turned my head, your hidden blade was ready to cut Sha... Liam's neck!“

„What?!“ I yelled. You don't watch your back for a minute and voila, an aggressive templar appears, trying to send you to your grave. How lovely. How many times have I already cursed all of Desmond’s goddamn forefathers? Not enough, apparently.

„It wasn't my intention to kill him!“ Haytham protested, still defending himself from Desmond's attempts to get the upper hand over him in the battle.

„Sure, waving your blade around someone's neck is such a friendly gesture,“ said Desmond, panting heavily.

„I only wanted to frighten him.“

„Frighten me why?“ I joined the conversation. If they think they can talk about me and pretend I’m not standing right next to them, they are sorely mistaken. „You want your amulet back?“

„Yes.“

„I see. Well, first of all, get off of my coworker, he doesn't like it when people strive to kill him.“ I still have no idea if we could actually die, considering this place isn't real, but I'm not going to bet our lives on any assumptions. Better safe than sorry. Human brain is a strange thing and if it believes that you're dying, it could send you in a shock or stop your heart or whatever it is that brains do in their free time. Which would suck. Can you imagine if after everything we've done, Desmond would kick the bucket in the animus? If I got out and told Rebecca that our only hope to save the world snuffed it thanks to Haytham, she'd probably sacrifice me to Juno. Like it's my fault we got stuck here! If anyone's to blame, it is Rebecca. She is the one who's taking her time to repair the bloody machine. I realised we haven't heard her voice in some time. I hope it means that she's too engrossed in her work, not that she's been napping the whole time.

Haytham obeyed me, wow. He let Desmond be, stood up and dusted down his coat with a remarkably serene expression on his face. „Your friend is unharmed. Happy? May we speak now?“

Okaay. What was I supposed to say? I don’t have the key and only god (and the real Liam Whelan) knows where it’s currently located. In New York, in Russia, in Pakistan? It could be anywhere. If I said the truth and admitted I don’t know crap about the key and its whereabouts, Haytham wouldn’t believe me and he’d slit my throat. If I lied and came up with some fable, Haytham would eventually figure it out and – wait for it – slit my throat.

It always make one happy to have so many diverse alternatives to go for, doesn’t it?

I suppose lying should prove to be the safer variant of the two. Haytham _will_ find out that I led him up, but not before me and Desmond disappear somewhere out of his deadly reach.

„Erm,“ I said. What an articulate response, Hastings, Demosthenes himself would turn green with envy of your glorious vocabulary. „Listen,“ I folded my arms over my chest, „I’d love to give that trinket back to you, but I am afraid it’s not in my possession anymore.“

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Desmond wiping the dirt off of his trousers. Haytham didn’t get to injure him, the only mark their brawl has left on him was a small cut on his lip (does he collect them or what?) and, though I can only presume that, some bruises. Also the crumpled clothes, although I doubt something as trivial as that matters to Desmond.

„...has it now?“ Were the only words leaving Haytham’s mouth that I overheard. Ahem. Perhaps I should pay more attention when a person with brilliant combat training asks me questions.

So what, I’m still the brains of the operation, aren’t I? I can deduce what the rest of the sentence was about. „I sold it,“ I said.

„To whom?“

„To a... French merchant. He has recently arrived to Boston. From Toulouse, I believe.“

„Stéphane Brodeur?“

Why not, all French names sound the same anyway. A mixture of sneezing and grunting. „Yes, that was him.“

„If you’re lying to me, you are a dead man,“ said Haytham, casting me one final warning look and running off.

„What a pleasant chap,“ I remarked. „Nice fight, by the way, had a nice time watching it.“

Desmond shook his head in disbelief, „I saved your sorry ass and all you say is that you had a nice time watching it?“

„Yes? But I was rooting for you.“

„Good for you. If you rooted for Haytham, I’d covertly leave the barn in the middle of the night and burn it down with you still inside.“

„Quite counterproductive, helping me just so you could murder me yourself later.“

„What can I say. I’m unpredictable.“

„I see.“ I straightened the hat on my head. „You know what? Let’s go someplace safe before you get yourself in another street brawl.“

„Yes, mum.“

„By the way, thanks for not letting Haytham kill me.“

Desmond smiled, „Sure. No need to...“

i interrupted him before he could finish. He’d either get too smug or too amiable and I didn’t need that. „I suggest we eat something first.“

„Okay,“ he agreed. „I’m starving.“

I headed to the nearest pub, wondering how long it would take Haytham to find us and beat the living daylights out of us. I hope he doesn’t send Charles Lee instead, that moustache of his is the stuff of nightmares and I definitely don’t want it to be the last thing my poor eyes see.


	6. Day Six

„Hey, Whelan! How is it going?“

I turned around. Oh, wonderful. Another bloody moron who thinks he knows me.

„Hey, it's alright,“ I replied. You can't go wrong with a 'hey it's alright'. Much better than 'hey, it's not alright because I actually come from the 21st century and who the hell are you, anyway?‘

„How is Alice?“ the stranger asked.

Alice? The hell? Alice in Wonderland? „Alice is just fine.“

The man grinned. „So, she kicked the bucket already?“

Ah. Was I supposed to kill that woman? „Yeah.“

„How d'ya kill her?“

Goddamnit, mate, I have no idea! Piss off. „Ahem,“ I said. „He killed her,“ I pointed at Desmond.

I couldn't see Desmond's expression, but I bet he was making one of his I-am-so-done-with-you faces. He was wearing a grey cape we stole... somewhere, I don't even remember where. When you appear at a place you've never been to and you don't have one bloody coin on you, stealing is a must. So what, I'm an assassin, doing illegal shit is my job. And these people aren't most likely real, anyway. And Samuel Briggs, Whelan's friend with benefits, wore a cape, which is why I convinced Desmond to get his hands on one as well.

„Yeah, I carved her heart out,“ Desmond said, sounding bored. Jesus, Desmond, you dramatic bastard. How about you also skin poor Alice and rip out her eyes?

„Good,“ the man was obviously satisfied, „the bitch deserved that.“

My God. My ancestor had to be a really pleasant bloke. Who the hell carves people's hearts out with their best mates for fun? What a lovely way to spend your evening.

„Here's your payment,“ said the man, handing me a some money. Okay, this I could get used to.

I nodded (tough guys don't say thank you, do they?) and hid Liam’s earnings in my pocket. „See you.“

„See you, Liam,“ the man waved at me, leaving us on our own.

„What do you think he'll do when he finds out Alice is likely alive?“ Desmond asked.

„Whatever he does, it couldn't be worse than what Haytham will do to us for lying to him about the key.“

„True. I wonder if...“

I wonder what Desmond wondered about, but I’ll never get to find out. Someone hugged me from behind. I turned around, my shock must have been painfully apparent from my expression.

I saw a young woman with long black hair. Her teeth were crooked, but I wouldn't necessarily call her ugly; not uglier than other women we've encountered here, anyway. She could have been what, twenty years old? I can't tell thanks to Benjamin's wonderful glasses and thanks to the beautiful rainy weather and dark sky. Most faces look the same to me now. Some tanned, some freckled, some pale, all of them fucking annoying. Everything about this time is annoying. Interesting from a historic's point of view, but for an insider? Annoying. How else would you describe a century, in which people throw tea overboard?! Bloody barbarians is what they are, I genuinely miss 2012.

Back to the sorta-ugly woman now. She grinned at me and hit my shoulder with strength I wouldn't have expected from someone so short and slim. „You've spared my life! And you lied for me! I'll always be in your debt.“ Could this be the Alice girl I was supposed to murder?

„Um.“ I've been saying that quite often lately, haven't I?

„Look, Liam,“ the girl continued, „I would like to show you my gratitude tonight... If you know what I mean.“

„What?“ I stared at her in horror. Did she just... Jesus! Dear madam, I'm about as straight as Janis Joplin's hair, I wouldn't want to touch you with a ten feet pole!

„I am busy tonight,“ I replied, trying to sound casual and not freaked out.

„Tomorrow, then?“

„I am busy tomorrow, as well. I’m a very busy man, you see.“

„How about...“

„He's busy,“ Desmond interrupted her, „can't you hear him?“

Alice pouted, „Surely he can find a moment for me. They say I am good at...“

I raised my hand quickly in the universal gesture meaning ‚shut the fuck up‘. „I don't care what you're good at, honestly. I have no time for you and your _talents._ “

„But...“

„Shut up,“ Desmond said, God bless him for that, „he's mine.“

I... What?! Wouldn't I have noticed that?! As far as I know, we come from a time where slavery has been abolished for quite a while and I don’t belong to anyone except for myself!

Oh, wait. He's playing the role of Whelan's partner-in-crime-and-in-bed. Of course Briggs would have been a little possessive shit. And of course Desmond couldn’t pass the chance to act like said little shit and puzzle me.

„Um,“ I said. 'Um' is becoming to me what 'What the fuck' is to Desmond. „Yeah, there's this thing, too. I know I am irresistible, but,“ in the words of great Leonardo da Vinci, „women provide little distraction.“

„Women do what...?“

Could this girl possibly be related to Ezio? „I don't fancy them.“

That made her laugh. „How can you not? Every man does.“

So related to Ezio. The same stupid questions.

„I find men hotter than women,“ I explained.

„...what does body temperature have to do with this?“

Alice Auditore da Boston. Sounds lovely. Shite, how I hate dumb people! What does she want me to do, draw a picture for her? Write an essay? Show her some graphs? Create an animus entry on homosexuality?

I was comtemplating how to begin my essay just when Desmond grabbed my shoulder, murmuring something like „why do I always have to do everything“, and pulled me to himself. Then, he kissed me.

Yeah. You’re not hallucinating. He actually did that. He actually bloody fucking shit jesus burning hell kissed me. He, as in Desmond. Kissed. _Me._ What. The. _Fuck._

I was so shocked I couldn’t speak. Yeah yeah, the great Shaun Hastings at a loss for words, unbelieavable, I know. Laugh all you want. The kiss only lasted for about a second but I stood there, staring like an idiot, for about 100000 years, okay, maybe less, sorry, I have no idea what the fuck I am even saying, I told you I was in shock, didn’t I, I am quite sure I did, what the hell was I talking about, what the hell did just happen, this is the weirdest day of my life, I am going to murder Rebecca after I get out of the Animus, I am going to murder everyone, I am going to...

Shaun, calm down, you’re hyperventilating. You’re not a bloody teenager, you can handle one surprise snog. Damn it.

„This is what he meant,“ said Desmond calmly, stepping away from me and looking at Alice. When I finally managed to divert my gaze from Desmond and pay some attention to her, I noticed she was about as dumbstruck as me. Her mouth was open with confusion.

„Oh,“ she stammered out, „I... see. Well, in that case, I... I’d better get going, right?“ She laughed uneasily, thanked me one last time and ran off.

„Well,“ I said. „That was... an interesting idea.“

Desmond shrugged, „Hey, it’s not my fault that girl was so stupid, right? She needed a demonstration of Liam’s gayness.“

„You could have, I don’t know, warned me.“

„Warned you how? Hey Shaun, brace yourself, I’m going to kiss you in twenty seconds? Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen...“

„Shut up,“ I growled, „all I’m saying is that you startled me.“

„You did look quite thrown off,“ Desmond said with a smirk. „And you’re still blushing. Okay, whatever, I promise you I’ll warn you the next time.“

„The next time? You try this again and I’ll strangle you! And I am _not_ blushing. I never blush.“

„Sure, I totally believe you,“ Desmond rolled his eyes. „Calm your tits, Shaun, I’m very sorry for any trauma I might have caused you. It’s not like it meant anything anyway, so...“

„Like I don’t know that, you wanker. And I don’t have tits, I am a manly man, thank you very much. Just... shut up and let’s go somewhere else, okay?“

„As you wish, boss.“

For the rest of the day, no one dared to bother us. Good for them, I might have snapped and shot someone in the head. We stole some more food, some more clothes, one more blanket and spent approximately two hours looking for my glasses which I had wisely laid aside while we were resting on a bench.

Dear everyone who can read my thoughts right now – bad weather is bad for your health, that’s why it’s called bad weather. When bad weather strikes, you are supposed to put on some quality warm clothing or, ideally, stay home and don’t raise your arse from your bed. I didn’t do either. However, it’s not my fault I couldn’t wear my favourite ugly jumper (I got it from Rebecca last Christmas... shut up, there’s nothing cute about that). If anything, it’s REBECCA’S BLOODY FAULT FOR NOT REPAIRING THIS CURSED MACHINE. Was there really a time when I was looking forward to using the Animus myself? Ha, ha. I used to be so young and naive.

What I was trying to say is, I caught a cold. A nasty one, at that. Kept sneezing and blowing my nose the whole evening.

„Want to get back to the barn, Shaun?“ Desmond suggested. Of course he’d stay completely healthy even though his coat was thinner and more worn-out than mine. Why is it always me who carries the can?

„Dope, I cad badage,“ I shook my head.

„What?“

„I cad badage!“

„I don’t understand a word you’re saying. I’m going to assume you agreed with me.“

„I did dot!“

„What?“

I heaved an irritated sigh. „Fuck you, Desbod.“

Desmond squeezed his nose with two of his fingers and said mockingly, „The sabe to you, Shaud.“

I gave him my evilest frown, but all he did was smile. Idiot. I hate him and his stupid smile.

We ended up lying side by side in the hay, each wrapped in a blanket and trying to fall asleep.

„How am I supposed to sleep with you coughing all the time?“ said Desmond.

„You were the one who wadded to returd to the bard, so shut up dow.“

„Could you at least try to stop coughing?“

„Could you at least try to stop beid a dickhead?“

„I will when you do.“

„I asked you first,“ was my reply, followed by a loud sneeze.

„Bless you,“ said Desmond politely. „When I asked you to stop coughing, I didn’t mean you should start sneezing.“

„Well you should have specified that sooder,“ I grimaced and sneezed again.

„You still cold?“

„Cold?“ I laughed bitterly. „Why would you eved thidk that! This place is hot like a beach id Africa, I regret not bringing sud protection creab.“

Desmond shifted closer and draped his blanket over me.

„What are you doing?“ I asked, bemused.

„Keeping you from getting pneumonia,“ he said simply, wrapping his arm around me and burying his head in my shoulder. „Good night, Shaun. Please don’t sneeze at me, if possible.“

I was at a loss for words. Again. Stupid Desmond and his stupid plans. Eventually, when Desmond was probably asleep already, I sighed and hugged him. Fuck bad weather. Fuck it. I hate it. I hate this whole century. I hate everything.

I hate Desmond the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, finally halfway through! A big thank you to everyone reading these lines :)


	7. Day Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't say I'm happy with this one, I might have done a bit of a sloppy job with it. Whatever. I hope you enjoy it anyway :D

As soon as I woke up, I knew we were fucked. This looked nothing like the barn we had fallen asleep in. More like a... more like a bloody cell than anything.  Me and Desmond were half sitting, half lying on the wooden floor. We were leaning against each other, our backs and our heads touching. Also, someone had tied our wrists, my left hand fastened to Desmond‘s right and vice versa. They hadn’t secured our legs; we could stand up if we wanted to, but honestly, why bother? The tiny room we found ourselves in was definitely locked and probably well guarded. I could only guess that any attempts to escape would end in our inevitable death. Or desynchronization or whatever is the worst thing that can happen to you in the Animus.

Wait, the Animus. This isn’t real. Rebecca is watching us and should be able to inform us about our whereabouts. „Rebecca!“

„Yes, Shaun?“ That daughter of a bitch (why does no one use this expression?) was actually _giggling,_ unless what I heard was yet another glitch. Wait. Bitch, glitch. That rhymes. Have I accidentally turned into an American rapper? Yo, wazzup, ya’ll here me?

„What is this place?“ I asked.

„The owner of your favourite barn came across your sleeping bodies and ratted you out to the templars,“ said Rebecca. „Johnson and Hickey dragged you here. I think Haytham wants to have a nice talk with you guys.“

I rolled my eyes, „Great. Could this be any better?“

„Totally! This whole place could burn down or something.“

„Thanks, Rebecca. I feel much better now.“

„That’s what I’m here for.“

I heard Desmond yawn and felt his attempt to stretch and lift his hands. „Wait,“ he muttered, „the hell is this?“

„Welcome to a templar cell, Desmond! Hope you have a pleasant stay,“ I exclaimed with fake cheerfulness.

„Templar cell? What? How?“

„So full of questions...“

„Shaun. Stop pissing me off and tell me what’s going on.“

„Ask me nicely and I’ll oblige.“

„Shaun, sweetheart, would you mind sharing with me all that you know about our current situation, please and thank you?“

„With pleasure, my dear. Our unsuspecting host found us in the barn and sent Haytham’s favourite bootlickers to take care of us.“

„Fuck. Shit.“

„My words exactly.“

„Nah, your words would be more like – _bloody hell, this is all your fault, Desmond_!“

„I don’t sound like that!“

„Yeah, you do.“

„No, I don’t.“

„Yeah, you do.“

„No, I...“

The door creaked and revealed Lee’s figure. His lips were twitched up in an imperceptible smirk. „I see that you are already awake. Good. How was your sleep?“

„Grand,“ I grumbled before I could stop myself. „Was this necessary?“

Desmond moved his hand atop of mine and gripped it so tight it hurt. I suppose it was his subtle way of letting me know I should shut my mouth. Yeah, I guess I should do just that.

Charles Lee approached us, the hint of a smirk completely gone. I‘ll tell you, that man was fucking scary when he was bending down to you, his face seemingly made of stone. I did my best not to let my nerves show. „Where is the amulet you stole from our Grandmaster? I won’t ask you twice.“

„We’ve already talked to your boss,“ said Desmond. „We told him everything we knew.“

„We tracked Brodeur down and he claims he has never heard of the amulet.“

„Then he’s a liar,“ Desmond shrugged. „I was there with Liam, I can testify that we sold it to him.“

Lee snorted, nearly spitting on my face. Ugh. If that happened, I’d have to wash it a hundred times a day for the rest of my life. „Your testimony doesn’t mean anything to me.“

Desmond scowled, „I don’t understand what you want from us. We have nothing else to share with you. We don’t know where the thing is.“

Lee clasped his hands together. „Well, what a pity. In that case master Kenway has no further use for you. You can die. Any final words?“ An ugly sneer showed on his face.

„Awesome,“ I whispered so that only Desmond could hear me, „I didn’t sign up for this shit.“

„Neither did I.“

„Did you hear me, gentlemen?“ Lee raised his voice, walking around us in circles.

I tilted my head down a little bit, my stupid Franklin-made glasses sliding to the tip of my nose. And that’s when I realised we _could_ in fact prove our innocence. „You were right, there’s something important we haven’t told you,“ I said, hoping my plan would work. Well of course it would work, my plans always work because they are brilliant.

„I knew it!“ Lee exclaimed. „What is it?“

„To be honest... I am not Liam Whelan and this is not Samuel Briggs. We are imposters.“

Lee’s eyes widened. „Imposters? Impossible. Do you expect me to believe this?“

„It’s true!“ I insisted. „Have anyone who knows Whelan describe his looks to you. His hair was bright orange, mine is more brown-ish. His hair was longer, mine is quite short. His sight was perfect, he had no need for glasses. And the last thing is, Whelan’s chin was scarred. Can you see anything on my chin? No? That’s because I am not Whelan.“

„Who the hell are you then?“

„My name is Shaun Hastings, I don’t suppose you have heard of me.“

„Why are you pretending to be someone else?“

„Actually, it... wasn’t my intention,“ I admitted. „I moved to Boston recently and since then, people have been confusing me with Whelan. Apparently, I bear a striking resemblance to the man. I’m not going to lie, I am only human, I might have taken advantage of the fact that everyone feared me and believed me to be an infamous killer. But that’s it, there’s no grand plan, no conspiracy. Pure coincidence.“

Lee didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t look entirely unconvinced either. Good, I’ve thrown him off balance. 1:0 for the Assassin team, woohoo! Templar are sore losers.

„Wait here,“ said Lee with a deep frown as he left the cell and locked the door behind him. What a stupid thing to ask of us, as if we could get up and leave through the door like ghosts.

Me and Desmond stayed silent. I mean, what would we say? We couldn’t escape, we couldn’t do a thing except for keeping our hopes up. The time was dragging on, driving me mad. When Lee finally showed up,  there was still the same frown sitting under his manly moustache. „Master Kenway ordered me to release you,“ he said. „Can’t say I would do the same were I in his position, but it is not my place to doubt his decisions. He is a wise man, he must have his reasons.“ He kneeled down to us, a knife in his hand. He removed the rope that was binding us, then stood up, beckoned us to follow him and opened the door. „Go,“ he said, stepping away to enable us to leave. „But first, let me give you advice. Don’t gamble with your lives. Whelan is not a man you want to mess with. If he finds out about this little charade of yours, he won’t spare you.“

„Yeah, fine. Thanks for the talk,“ said Desmond, slipping out of the room.

 

xxx

 

„I thought your flu or whatever disappeared!“

„Obviously not,“ I said after sneezing so hard I thought my eyeballs would rocket ouf of my eye sockets. „We better find another barn, I don’t suppose we’re coming back to the old one, unless we want to be shot down by the angry owner. He thinks Haytham took care of us, let’s keep it that way.“

„Okaay. So where are we going?“

„You could visit a random house again.“

„Why me? Why don't you do something yourself?“

„I think, you act,“ I smirked and shoved him. „Go, I'll wait for you.“

Desmond sticked out his tongue, but he did as I said. Good boy.

The door opened and a bald head showed up. The man's eyes were narrowed with suspicion. „What do you want?“

„We are looking for a place to sleep,“ said Desmond. „Perhaps you would know of something?“

The bald man grimaced, „No. I'm definitely not letting strangers in and no sane person would.“

„How about an insane person?“

„Cross-eyed Maggie sounds like your woman,“ he smirked. Cross-eyed Maggie? Oh no. Sounds like the name of a crazy urban legend. „She seldom leaves her house and reportedly, she hears voices. She'd make a lovely companion, the old hag. That ugly grey house over there belongs to her, pay her a visit.“

With that, he shut the door.

I raised my eyebrow, „Wanna go take a look at the madwoman who hears voices?“

„That guy said no one else would accept us,“ shrugged Desmond, „we could try. And you know people, they make up things about you without a proper reason. Everyone is weird for them. By the way, how about you try knocking on the door for once, hm? I'm tired of doing all the job.“

„Fine, whatever,“ I agreed grudgingly and banged on said door. „Hello, is anybody home?“

No answer.

„Okay, that’s it, we are going somewhere...“

„Try it again,“ Desmond insisted.

I sighed and knocked once again.  This time, a loud creak announced someone’s presence. An old woman in plain black dress squinted at us. Okay, I have to admit the „Cross-eyed Maggie“ nickname suddenly made a lot of sense. „What do you want?“ she rasped.

„We need somewhere to spend a night.“

She blinked in confusion, „That’s why you’r e here?“

„Didn’t I just say that?“

„So you’re not here to insult me or hurt me or...“ she babbled on.

„No! We have nowhere to rest, we were cast out of our... home. Would you help us, please?“

„You’re not thieves? Or murderers?“

„We’re not.“ What? I’ve said worse lies in my life. And it’s not like I’d harm a welcoming host, especially if they’re a weak old lady.

„Or... or robbers or rapists or...“

„Jesus, no. We are good people.“ Yeah, yeah, I know, lying is bad, mum. Sorry about that. It’s not my fault that Maggie here is paranoid as hell.

Maggie still looked somewhat unsure, but eventually she decided to give us a chance, „Alright then. Come in.“

So we did, hoping the urban legend madam wouldn’t strangle us in our sleep. Knowing our luck, it wasn’t that unlikely. Bloody hell, if we die here, it’s all Desmond’s fault.


	8. Day Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! Two chapters in one day! Enjoy :)

Last night, we slept well. By which I mean we got our hands on actual pillows and blankets and didn’t shiver with cold. Maggie acommodated us in her not so spacious guest room with two not so comfortable beds. Doesn’t sound like much, but comparted to the barn it’s like a five star hotel. During the evening, Maggie didn’t lose much of her timidness, still keeping an eye on us (and keeping the other eye on her nose because, well, _cross-eyed_ Maggie, remember). In spite of her suspicions, she prepared a dinner for us and made some tea, which was an appreciated gesture. Maggie might have been slightly bonkers, but she knew how to give two strangers a warm welcome, God bless her crazy soul.

It felt strange, falling asleep with no one by my side. Not that I missed Desmond’s presence or anything, I was just getting used to the way he kept stealing the blanket for himself. And to his almost-snoring. And to the unintelligible mumbling that signified he was probably having weird dreams. Whatever. It’s not like I need a human heater now that we’ve occupied one of Maggie’s rooms. It’s not like I _want_ one. As for Desmond, he’s probably happy he has some space for himself.

Because the universe doesn’t want us to rest any longer than necessary, we were awoken by muffled female voices. Our bedroom was located on the ground floor with the windows offering a view of Maggie’s unkempt garden. That must have been where the noise was originated from.

„Looks like our host has visitors,“ I noted.

„So what? That’s none of our business.“

„It is bloody well my business when they’re chatting so loud it’s waking me from my sleep.“

„Dude, we’re here literally thanks to Maggie’s good will. Leave her alone. If she kicks us out because of your whining, you’re a dead man,“ Desmond muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow in which his head was buried.

„Yeah, whatever.“ There was some truth to Desmond’s words, but he doesn’t need to know that.

The voices were getting louder and I was too impatient and curious to stay idle. I jumped out of my bed, left the house and went for a lovely morning walk around the garden. I whistled, because that’s how you come across as a person without ulterior motives. After no more than ten minutes, I bumped into Maggie.

„Um, good morning,“ I said, conjuring a smile.

„What are you doing here?“ she asked me, alarmed. „Have you stolen anything? Done anything? Are you trying to escape now?“

„I needed some fresh air, that’s all. By the way, I think I heard something... Weren’t you talking to someone?“ I was trying to sound casual.

Her frightened expression suggested it didn’t work. „M-me? Talking?“ she laughed weakly. „Of  course not! What a silly question. I live here on my own, you’re the only visitors I’ve had in years!“

I am no mind reader, but this woman was a filthy liar, I could tell by her stuttering and nervous glances. I wonder what she has to hide? Are her secrets connected to why the Bostoners regard her with disdain?

Perhaps seeking her out wasn’t such a clever idea after all. Why do we always have to get involved in some shady business, for God’s sake?

 

xxx

 

I didn’t feel like spending the whole day in the company of a half-sleeping assassin and a mysterious granny, which was why I chose to wander aimlessly around Boston. If I could pick anywhere and anytime to visit, I surely wouldn’t have gone for this city, but whatever. One has to seize the opportunity when it offers itself.

I had been walking around and examining the city until late afternoon, which was when Desmond somehow managed to find me and catch up with me.

„What a nice day, huh?“ he said.

I made a face, „I got out because I wanted some time alone, but obviously, I am not entitled to it. Do you want something, Desmond?“

„You’ve had plenty time alone, you’ve been goofing off around here for hours. Let’s get back so Maggie can make us something to eat.“

„I am tired of this, Desmond! Doing nothing, sleeping, stealing, getting kidnapped by dead templars... Why the hell are we still here?! The world is in danger, our time is running out and now it appears that everyone will die because we can’t get out of this bloody machine!“

Desmond was caught off guard, „Whoa, Shaun, calm your tits, okay? It sucks, yeah, but taking out your anger on me won’t change shit.“

„It will make me feel better.“

„You know what, Shaun?“ he shouted. „I don’t want to be here either, but am I being an asshole to you? No. I’m tired of how you always treat me like crap. I’ve done nothing to you, the least you could do is respect me!“

Wow. I haven’t seen Desmond this pissed off since... I don’t know, but it’s been a while, that’s for sure. Okay, I guess I shouldn’t have been a dick, arguing won’t get us out of here. And regardless of how I enjoyed pestering Desmond, for some reason I didn’t want him to stay cross with me. Probably because he was a proud owner of a number of deadly weapons. „Right. Sorry.“

That threw him off even more. What, can’t I be polite for once? „Did you just say sorry?“

„I think so?“

„You think so.“

„I think so,“ I repeated. God, what else was I supposed to say? I suck arse at this whole apologising thing.

He sighed. „Alright, lame apology accepted. You know what, let’s head to a pub and have a drink, that might help. We’re both feeling like shit and need to relax. Agreed?“

„Agreed.“

 

xxx

 

 „Aaaand then I told him,“ he hiccuped, „then I told him to go fuck himself!“

First, Desmond giggled like a schoolgirl and our templar pal giggled back at him. After that, Desmond wasn’t able to contain himself anymore, howling with laughter and holding his stomach. A single tear ran down his cheek, falling from the corner of his eye.

„That wasn’t even funny,“ I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

„If you drank more beer, it would be the most hilarious thing ever, mate,“ Hickey grinned at me. He turned around and slapped the waitress‘ bottom as she was walking by. „Oi, beauty!“ he yelled, „bring us some more beer, will ya?“

„I think you two have had enough,“ I pointed out.

Hickey’s nose has turned into a tomato and Desmond laughed at absolutely everything. Some random bloke said „hello“ to him and Desmond guffawed like an idiot. Isn’t that proof enough? They had much more alcohol flowing in their veins than was healthy.

As for me, I was feeling tipsy, but I was still capable of thinking straight (if any of you are considering making a joke about my sexuality... don’t). Unlike my two stupid companions, I have some common sense and know my limits.

„Fine, but this is the last beer I’m drinking tonight,“ I grumbled when the busty waitress refilled my glass with some god-awful swill these Bostoners seem to love.

„You’re the best!“ shouted Hickey and raised his beer above his head, spilling some of it on the table. Not that he even noticed. „Sammy, mate, what shall we toast to? How about we toast to your boyfriend for being the best?“

„Yeah! Okay,“ Desmond agreed, presenting me with a Cheshire cat smile. „To my boyfriend.“

I was fighting the urge to smash my head against the wall. Or rather, smash _their_ heads against the wall.

How did we end up drinking with Thomas Hickey? I have no idea! One minute, we were entering the pub and the next, he was sitting next to us and ordering drinks. Two assassins and a templar hitting the bottle together, isn’t that funny? Thank God he had no way of finding out who we truly were.

I finished drinking my beer, then I was forced by Hickey to empty a glass of wine („It’s sooo gooood, the best thing you can drink before going to bed! Seriously, ya’ll sleep like a bloody log.“)

Desmond wanted to stay, but I hoisted him up to his feet because I was getting tired of this shit. Not all of us are happy drunks like he is.

„We’re going home,“ I declared, not realising there was no home we could return to.

„I don’t want to!“

Bloody little twit acting like a five-year-old. „I don’t care!“ I said, gripping his forearm and hauling him away. Hickey was waving at us, but I paid him no attention. I was too busy focusing on not letting Desmond wrench himself free and rush back to his new best friend Hickey.

„I fuckin‘ hate you,“ Desmond said as we finally got out of the pub.

„No, I fucking hate you,“ I said, still holding his arm because he was drunk and dumb and capable of who knows what in his current state. I wasn’t exactly sober either, my walk was anything but straight (no jokes, remember) and steady. We were swaying from side to side, drunk as fucking sailors.

Until I spotted a tall hooded figure. Shit. „Desmond! That’s an assassin, we need to take cover!“

Desmond’s brown eyes lighted up like fireflies. „Assassin? We’re assassins, too! He’s our, you know, partner in crime! We should talk to him!“

I dragged Desmond towards a broad tree, hoping its shadow would hide us from the assassin’s eyes. „Don’t you remember who we are?“ I whispered. „We are imposters, passing off as two of the most dangerous men in Boston. I bet the assassins would love to get rid off people like Whelan and Briggs.“

„But we’re not actually Whelan and Briggs!“

„Oh really?“ I snapped at him. „I’d never realise that without your help, thanks! Listen you prick, this man is yearning for our deaths! If you don’t shut up, he’ll hear us and come over!“

„We could explain that we’re not who we seem to be!“

I snorted. If only it was that simple. If only anything was ever simple for us. „Like he’ll believe that.“

„He might, he...“

„Shut the fuck up!“

„...he looks like a clever dude, I mean...“

„Desmond, he’s getting near, just...“

„...I mean,  he’s an assassin, so he can’t be that dumb, right?“

„You’re an assassin and you’re a dumb fuck, too!“ I hissed, by that point fully overtaken by panic. God. I don’t deserve this!

„I am not dumb!“ Desmond whined.

„You fucking are! He just looked our away! If you say one more bloody word, I...“

„Calm down, Shaun.“

You know what is the most succesful way to completely enrage someone? _Tell them to calm down._ I was so pissed off I couldn’t think straight (...don’t). Driven by alcohol, anger and my self-preservation instinct, I pushed Desmond against the tree and kissed him. What? It shut him up, which was what I needed!

...and I can’t say it was unpleasant. He even kissed me back after a while (I was blaming it on the beer). His arm slipped out of my squeeze and I felt his warm hand slowly sliding down my back, stopping at the hips. We were unknowingly shifting towards each other until we were so close there was not a single part of me that wasn’t touching him. I was running out of breath.

And that was when I came to realise what the  hell we were doing.

I tore myself away from him, breathing heavily. His lips were still slightly parted and he was staring at me with eyes wide open. Fuck.

I cleared my throat, „We should... we should go.“

Before Desmond had the chance to reply, I set off towards Maggie’s house.

 

xxx

 

After arriving to our current hideaway, my mind was still flooded with confusion and pure terror. I fell down on my bed like a rotten tree, desperately needing some sleep.

But of course, Desmond wouldn’t have that. When I closed my eyes, I felt the bed bend down under his weight as he was struggling to crawl next to me.

„What the hell are you doing?“ I asked him.

„Going to bed,“ he said, collapsing right on me.

„You have your own bed.“

„What?“

„You have your own bed, idiot!“

„Ah. You’re right. Well, I’m already here and I’m too tired to get up. And I like it here.“

I sighed with irritation. „Could you at least move? You’re heavy and the brotherhood doesn’t employ me to serve as your pillow.“

„You’d make a good pillow, though. If only you could stop bitching for a second.“

„Shut up or I swear I’ll kick you out of the bed.“

„Sorry, pillow man,“ murmured Desmond, shifting away to make some space for me. „Satisfied?“

„More or less.“

„Good,“ Desmond sighed contently, laying his head down on my chest. „Sweet dreams, Shaun.“

„Yeah, whatever...“


	9. Day Nine

Why was I feeling like shit? I wasn’t supposed to feel like shit, I hadn‘t even drunk that much! Well, try telling that to your head, Shaun. You know you shouldn’t be hungover, but your head obviously doesn’t, otherwise it wouldn’t be torturing you like this. Ugh. If this goes on, I might puke. Or cry. Or cut my head off.

I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw on this particular beautiful day was Desmond whose gaze was fixed on me, for whatever bloody reason. It appeared he had awoken before me.

„Watching people sleep is creepy as hell, Desmond.“

„Good morning to you too, sunshine.“

„No seriously, it is.“

„I wasn’t watching you, asshole. I was trying to figure out how to get you off of me. You’re like an octopus, your limbs are everywhere. I’m relieved I wasn’t crushed or suffocated by your roaming paws.“

„This is my bed, you git! You can’t invade someone’s bed and then complain about the lack of personal space!“

„I didn’t invade anything, am I Genghis Khan or what? And that bed belongs to Maggie,“ Desmond pointed out. He was likely under the impression he was oh so bloody clever.

„You’re a git.“ Yep, I was repeating myself, but it was about half past I-am-dead-beat-and-hungover a.m. You can’t expect me to speechify like Will Shakespeare. Also it should be noted that Desmond behaves like a true git 99% of the time, which means I am allowed to call him that whenever I feel like it. End of story.

„Likewise,“ said Desmond with... what was that, fondness in his voice? Has my hangover induced auditory hallucinations or what? And why in the ninth circle of hell am I smiling? I was grinning, Desmond was grinning, we were grinning at each other and what the actual hell, Hastings. I guess the Animus is fucking with my mind. Thank you very much, Animus! My gratitude also goes to Rebecca who still hasn’t been able to help us out of this mess.

Speaking of Rebecca... Oh _no_.

I let out a tormented groan while rising up from the bed. „Desmond?“

„What is it?“

„Do you think... Rebecca has been watching us the whole time?“ I said slowly.

Desmond’s eyes widened as realisation dawned on him. „Uh,“ he said, „I hope not?“

„Yes, I have been watching you two disgusting cuddle sluts,“ Rebecca’s voice responded. „You are disgusting.“

„You’ve used the word disgusting twice, which is an infallible indication of a limited vocabulary,“ I said because I had no idea how else I should react to being called a cuddle slut.

„You kiss guys, which indicates you’re so gay you sneeze glitter.“

„You also kiss guys, does that make you gay? No.“

„Shaun.“

„I am not gay!“

To eliminate any possible confusion – I am gay, but me and Rebecca have been playing this little game where she knows I’m gay and I know she knows I’m gay and she knows I know she knows I’m gay, but I keep pretending I don’t know she knows and she keeps pretending she doesn’t know I know she knows. Phew. Did that even make any sense? I guess not.

Me and Rebecca go back a long time, we’ve known each other for eternity. Years ago, I was still in the closet and whenever Rebecca came up with any nosy questions, I was all _I am so not gay, I am the least gay person in the world._ I have never exactly come out to her, but I’ve hinted at my gayness so many times Rebecca would have to be stupid as a templar not to get it. So this whole _I am not gay_ spiel is more of an in-joke and a reminder of the good old times than anything else.

„Right. And I’m not an assassin,“ Rebecca cackled. „Anyway, there’s something you guys should know.“

„Let me guess, we’re never coming back and we’re going to die here.“ Hello sarcasm, my old friend. How I’ve missed you.

„Nah. I am simply the best! I found out what’s been causing the malfunction,“ Rebecca boasted.

„Took you long enough. What’s wrong with that piece of garbage?“

„It’s a virus,“ said Rebecca. „It has been hidden in the software for quite some time, it has to be templar work. I’ve no idea how they accessed our Animus, but it’s never happening again, that I can guarantee. I guess connecting the both of you somehow triggered the virus.“

„So you know how to get us out?“ Desmond said hopefully.

„Eh, not quite. Not yet. But I’m working on it!“

„You’ve been working on it for _days,_ Rebecca,“ I complained.

„I am doing my best!“ she cried out. „If you don’t like it, I can stop trying and leave you where you are.“

„Don’t mind Shaun, he’s... being Shaun,“ said Desmond, smirking at me.

„Unfortunately,“ Rebecca sighed. „Whatever. Enjoy your last days in Boston, because I’m gonna beat the evil virus ASAP! Rebecca out.“

I hate that woman. Have I told you that?

Heavy silence fell. I risked stealing a quick glance in Desmond’s general direction. When our gazes met, I jerked my head away and glued my eyes to the ceiling in a lame attempt to look inconspicous. Jesus, what are we, teenage girls? What’s this (sung in Jack Skellington’s voice)? Just a moment ago, we were arguing without a trace of awkwardness and suddenly everything is weird. Dog’s bollocks.

Desmond coughed, „Let’s make some breakfast? I’m kinda hungry.“

„Yeah, why not,“ I shrugged.

We headed to the kitchen. Maggie has apparently gone out; for an old woman, she surprisingly often spent time outside of her house.

There were some pseudo-bagels on the kitchen table. We sat down and ate - what a shock – in complete silence.

Was Desmond pissed off because of the kissing thing? Like it’s my fault, he wouldn’t shut up! And he kissed me back, so... I am currently receiving no complaints. Or maybe he was embarrassed about us sharing beds? That doesn’t make much sense either. To hell with this, I am no goddamn Betazoid, I suck at reading people. If something’s bothering the man, why can’t he just tell me?

„Shaun? Can I tell you something?“ Ah, there it is.

 „What?“

„Promise me you won’t laugh.“

„Can’t do, sorry.“

„Fine.“ Silence.

I sighed, „I promise I’ll try not to laugh unless you say something absolutely ridiculous. Satisfied?“

„I guess.“ Desmond paused and then started talking, „I am scared. I know that most of the time I look like I don’t give a shit about anything, but it’s not true. I mean, sometimes I feel so numb and worn out that I’m not even sure if I’m alive or if I’m still myself, you know? But then there are those moments when everything feels way too real and I don’t know how to deal with it. I got more or less used to being a total fucking mess, but I don’t want to become the total fucking mess that causes the end of the world. So much depends on me and... Jesus, why me? I am a fucking bartender, not Clark Kent! I’ve fucked up almost everything in my life and if I fuck this up, too...“

„God, Desmond, slow down...“ Whoa, first he doesn’t say a word and now he’s jabbering so fast I can hardly keep up with him. How am I supposed to respond? I’m no psychologist, I don’t know how to talk about serious stuff! Hell, I don’t know how to talk about anything except for how everyone’s intelligence is inferior to mine.

„Sorry, I just... This all is so fucked up, Shaun.“

„Yeah, I know,“ I heaved a sigh. „Listen, Desmond... You’re not going to fuck this up, alright? You can do it. And me, William and Rebecca are here to keep an eye on you in case something goes pear shaped. Also, you’re better than Clark Kent, I hate that bugger’s greasy hair and hipster glasses.“

„Dude, look in the mirror, you’re currently in possession of the most hipster glasses mankind has ever made.“

„I’m not wearing them on purpose, this is emergency!“

Desmond’s lips quirked in a slight smile. „If I’m not Clark Kent, which superhero am I then?“

I considered the question. „Spider-Man, no doubt about that.“

„What? Spider-Man is boring!“

„Have you seen that wicked parkour though? He’d make a great assassin.“

„Okay, whatever. And you are?“

„He’s M.J.,“ said Rebecca’s voice out of nowhere.

„Piss off, Rebecca, this is a private conversation. Put in your earbuds and shut up. I would be Iron Man, isn’t that obvious? We’re both brilliant, hilarious and handsome. Rebecca is The Hulk, have you ever seen her really angry? I swear she turns green .“

„I believe you,“ Desmond nodded, his expression deadly serious.

I manifested my best poker face as well. We were frowning and looking at each other and somehow it turned into a staring contest. I must proudly announce I won, Desmond couldn’t help himself and had to grin and divert his gaze. And lo, Shaun Hastings is victorious one more time!

„No but seriously,“ said Desmond, wiping the tears from the corners of his strained eyes, once his smile vanished, „even if I do save the world, I am still going to bite the dust. I’m screwed either way. I don’t think I want to die. Funny, isn’t it? My life is such a piece of shit but I am not ready to die.“

„You’re not going to die. I mean yes, of course you’re going to die, we’re all going to die. But you’re not going to die until you’re a toothless grandpa with twenty annoying grandchildren.“

„You know that’s not true, Shaun.“

And that was when I actually realised that no, it wasn’t true. Desmond won’t most likely stay alive for too long. He doesn’t even have months or weeks. He has days. Something akin to sadness stirred up in me. Sod it all, sod this life and sod the sodding brotherhood, I should have never joined it, I should have moved to Mexico, grown a moustache and set up a vegetables shop or something like that. What a life I might have known... (Be quiet, my inner Éponine, s'il te plaît.)

„Shaun, can't you hear... voices?“

„Obviously. You're speaking.“

„Oh really, mister smartass? What a revelation.“

„Apart from your voice...“ I paused and cocked my ears. I could in fact hear two muted feminine voices. „Oh, looks like our cross-eyed landlady is talking to 'no one' once again.“

Desmond opened the window, jumped out and climbed the nearby tree like a bloody monkey that had been promised bananas. His movements were so swift you'd think he was an athlete. For a while, he remained in the rich treetop, then he leapt aside somewhere I couldn't see; judging by the direction, he was attempting to get to the top of the roof. And trust me, if Desmond wanted to get somewhere, he _would._  

While Desmond was embracing the legacy of our anthropoid ancestors, I was carefully considering my next steps. Should I follow him? I have a sneaking suspicion he wouldn't be too delighted about me spoiling his intense ninja roleplay. On the other hand, I was so bored I could cry.

 My sanity > Desmond's enjoyment. Sorry, mate.

I crawled out the open window and circled around the house. Whenever I heard anything I thought was out of the ordinary, I hid behind a tree or the bushes. Yes, dear children, I _am_ actually capable of moving unnoticed. My job mostly consists of computer work, but that doesn't mean I haven't undergone the basic training.

When I finally located Desmond, he was - I called it - chilling on the rooftop. His back was hunched and his eyes watching the drama unfolding on the other side of the garden. But stalking isn’t that great a hobby, so he climbed down again after a while. What is this, assault course?

Whatever. I walked around the house, determined to find out if Desmond discovered who the mysterious voices belonged to.

What I saw took my breath away.

There was a... a woman, for lack of a better expression. She was floating, her golden hair flowing in the wind. Some sort of a white glowing aura was surrounding her body. She must have been one of those crazy First Civilisation ladies, of that there was no doubt. Or perhaps I was hallucinating again.

I sneaked closer to her; she was speaking to Desmond and I needed to know what she was saying.

„...I like talking to Maggie. It’s much better than being lonely.“

„You are one of the... the ones who came before!“ Desmond blurted out. „But what are you doing here?“

„I don’t know.“ Unlike Juno and Minerva, this one sounded lost and frightened.

„How did you get here?“

„I... I don’t remember. And you? What are _you_ doing here? I sense a... disturbance, I... I think you’re not supposed to be here. Oh. Wait! You are from another time!“ Bingo.

„Yeah,“ said Desmond.

Her eyes widened. „Are you my brother?“ she asked, hopeful and afraid she wouldn’t hear the desired answer.

„Your... what the fuck,“ said Desmond bemusedly.

„You could be my brother! You remind me of him. I don’t know! I... What do you want here? What do you want from me?“ she kept raising her voice until she was all but screaming.

„Hey, calm down, I... just need some help. Me and my friend, we have to get back to our reality,“ explained Desmond.

„Wait. Are you telling me someone is accompanying you? Oh no! I can see him now! I can’t do this!“ she shrieked out and disappeared into thin air.

Desmond turned around to give me a rather unfriendly look. „You couldn’t have stayed inside for a few minutes, could you?“

„What would it change if I did? She’s insane, she won’t help us!“

„Hopefully she’ll come back if you kindly fuck off.“

„Excuse me? That... that being, she confused you with her own bloody brother, her mind is a bigger mess than yours!“

„Thanks, really,“ Desmond said wryly. „By the way, I am still waiting for you to fuck off.“

I shook my head in defeat. Upon realising I had no keys on me, I used the window once again. Once I was in the guest room, I closed the window (Desmond can get in however he wants, the bastard), sat down and stared at the wall with the unsettling sensation of growing dread.

This all was going to end badly. Wasn’t it? It’s not like measly bunches of messed up assassins have high survival rates...

I went to check if Maggie had any whisky in stock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *melodramatic voice* The end of this story is nigh! Only two more chapters are coming (unless I suddenly decide to change the ending, haha). Btw, I'm sorry for all those pop culture references... God, I'm such a nerd.


	10. Day Ten

„This wasn't my doing, I don't understand what happened!“ Rebecca's voice woke me up from my peaceful slumber, but there was something odd about it. Or rather, there was _nothing_ odd about it. It wasn't distant and it didn't sound like you used the reverb effect on it, it was just... Rebecca.

I blinked my eyes open in confusion and... What the hell? She was standing right in front of me, leaning down and frowning. I took a look around, taking in the inside of our good old temple. Gone was Maggie’s guestroom, gone was the barn. I'd be dead with relief, were it not for Rebecca's weird grimace. If _she_ didn't get us out, what did?

Next to me, Desmond sat up, burying his face in his palms, sighing tiredly. Each time he had to use the Animus it got more difficult for him and he has been growing more exhausted. It wasn't unusual to catch him staring blankly at the wall, probably trying to remember who he was. Our mission was taking its heavy toll on him. I mean, obviously, I am incredibly important to the cause and the order would  be lost without me, but... it  was more or less my choice and I don’t have to risk losing my mind. More and more often, Desmond would wake up confused, thinking he’s Haytham or Altaïr or someone and... well. I guess it sucks to be him. I’m not really excited about this whole kidnap-a-guy-and-force-him-to-stick-his-neck-out thing, but you know, the planet is in danger and stuff. Of course we’d all be happy to make it easier for Desmond, but we can’t do anything except for keeping our mouths shut and focusing on our work so that we wouldn’t have to experience a slow painful death. Now _that_ would suck.

„The last thing I saw was Desmond talking to the First Civ lady and then bam, darkness,“ said Rebecca. „Did she help you? Do you remember anything, Desmond?“

„Um,“ said Desmond, rubbing his eyes. „Yeah, I do. Me and Fortuna had a pretty long conversation, actually. Although I have to admit it was kinda confusing.“

„Not surprised it was confusing, that lady had obviously lost her marbles a long time ago. What did she tell you?“ I asked.

„Oh come on, you’re just being mean to her because she didn’t want you to stay.“

„You have to admit sending me away was quite rude of her.“

„Man, you were spying on her, she had every right to be pissed off.“

„Whatever. What did she tell you?“

„A lot of stuff,“ Desmond replied. „It was she who destroyed the virus and helped us get out. She had promised we would be back the next day and she kept her word.“

„Well, considering her mental state, we can be grateful we didn’t end up somewhere in Greece,“ I muttered.

„Shaun,“ Rebecca frowned at me, „let him talk, would you?“

„Yes, madam,“ I gave a mocking salute.

„Thanks, Becca. Anyway, I told her about our current situation and she said she had always known this would happen. She offered she would give me all her remaining strength, then she kinda... disappeared in a flash of light and... I guess I could feel her presence within me, like this... strangely soothing sensation.“

„Splendid. So, you let one of those who came before in your head? Did I get that right? God knows what kind of damage she could cause!“

„She’s not controlling me, Shaun. I am me.“

„That’s what she would say if she was controlling you!“

Desmond rolled his eyes. „Shaun, just... shut your mouth, please. I don’t think she could control me even if she wanted to, she was really weak.“

„If she’s so weak, how is she supposed to be of any use to us?“

„I don’t know,“ Desmond shrugged helplessly. „I can’t even sense her anymore. It’s like she was half-dead already.“

I raised my hands, „Uh huh. So, let’s sum this up! Desmond is sharing his head with some messed up girl, who is either controlling him or dead. Either way, she’s no good for us. Also, the end is near, we have no time, we only have one power source, we...“

„Thank you, eternal optimist Shaun,“ Rebecca cut me off. How impolite. „Desmond, did she tell you anything about the power sources? Or the necklace? Or anything we could do that would help us?“

Desmond shook his head no. „Honestly? I’m happy I got at least _something_ out of her. It seemed she didn’t understand half of what I was asking her and she kept confusing me with her brother. And... she said something about Juno being a bitch who we shouldn’t trust.“

„I have this feeling Juno would tell us the same thing about her,“ I noted. „We shouldn’t trust anyone if you ask me.“

„Nobody asked you, actually,“ Rebecca said.

„And nobody asked _you_ about your opinion.“

„Nobody asked you about your opinion on my opinion.“

„Kindergarten flashbacks,“ murmured Desmond and added, this time loudly, „Hey guys, could you stop bitching and try to, I don’t know, talk about something important? Like the world ending?“

„Oh no,“ groaned Rebecca, „Shaun infected you with The Sass.“

„I’ve trained my Padawan well,“ I smirked, patting Desmond’s shoulder. He made a face, but stayed silent. Huh. Back in Boston, he was at least fun to be around. Now he looked upset and dead tired. Maybe it was that First Civ girl’s fault, what was her name again?

„What was her name again?“ I asked.

„Whose?“ Desmond stared at me stupidly. Oh my god. Who could I be possibly talking about? Britney Spears, of course. „You know, your new girlfriend, the one in your head.“

„You mean Fortuna?“

Fortuna, the Roman goddess of luck. Interesting. „I have...“

This time, it was Desmond who interrupted me, „If you’re about to go on a theological rant or come up with some Harry Potter reference...“

„That wasn’t what I was going to say, but if you insist... She was the goddess of luck as well as misfortune, so let’s not believe her to be our good luck charm, okay? Also, she was the goddess of fate and Jupiter’s daughter, so I’d rather not make her angry.“

„That was just theology, we’re still waiting for the Harry Potter lecture,“ Rebecca reminded me.

„What for? There’s no Fat Lady guarding the temple, it’s not like we can shout ‚Fortuna Major‘ and all our problems will be taken care of. And everything considered, we definitely don’t have fortuna major, it’s more of a fortuna minor. If not malfortuna.“

„You are malfortuna,“ said Rebecca, „and that was enough Latin for today. Oh, by the way, Desmond... Your dad went searching for one of the power sources, we couldn’t afford to wait for you anymore.“

„And you’re telling me that now?“ Desmond complained like the troublemaker he was.

„Chill out, he can make it. And it’s not like you’re going to be idle, we need you in the Animus. Your dad is gonna be fine, he can take care of himself,“ said Rebecca.

„What if something happens to him? It was me who was supposed to get the power sources!“

„As I’ve said, there‘s no time,“ Rebecca repeated patiently. „Now go get some rest and when you’re feeling better, you can return to Haytham’s memories.“

„You said we had no time to waste. I’m going back now.“

„Whoa there,“ I stopped him, „don’t you remember we need you alive? You should go take a nap and eat something.“

„Wow, I really must look like shit when even you are worried about my health.“

Tss, do I look some sort of a heartless monster? Well, I guess I do. Because I guess I am one. But still, Desmond, that wasn’t nice of you, you’ve hurt me. How could you? Why has everyone been so shitty to me lately? I might cry. Sniff. „I’m worried about everyone on this planet dying, actually.“

„Yeah, yeah, I know you’d never worry about me.“ Did he sound disappointed? Nah, I guess there’s something wrong with my ears, Desmond is no crybaby. Why is he even surprised about me being worried? I’ve been constantly worrying about something for weeks, it’s hard not to when so much depends on you. Oh no, now _I_ am becoming a crybaby. Wonderful.

Well since I’ve already started crybabying, I could as well go on with it. It’s not like I do it often, so keep your complaints to yourself, I’m not listening, lalalala. In fact, I _was_ worried about Desmond, but everyone would be if they saw him. He looked deader than Altaïr and let me tell you, Altaïr has been very dead for a very long time. He’s a pro at being dead.

_Just like Desmond is going to be a pro at being dead. Just like we all are._

Jesus, Hastings, shut up.

_Isn’t talking to yourself the first sign of insanity?_

Shut up.

_You’re still doing it._

Shut. Up.

_Why?_

I asked you to.

_So what?_

So what? You’re a part of me, you’re supposed to obey me!

Nah. That’s it? That’s your reply? Nah?

God, you’re annoying.

_Of course I am annoying, I am you. Besides, you love picking quarrels._

Me? That’s absurd.

_Especially with Desmond, because you liiike hiiiim._

Okay, that’s enough. Fuck you, my conscience or whatever you’re supposed to be, I have work to do other than deal with this garbage. I walked over to my laptop. Then I stole a quick glance at Desmond who was still seated in the chair next to the Animus, arguing with Rebecca and yawning. Okay, that’s it. I’m not letting that fucker die of exhaustion after everything we’ve achieved.

I rose to my feet and grabbed Desmond by the shoulder, giving him no choice but to stand up. „What the fuck?“ was all he could say, sounding almost endearingly confused.

„Putting you to sleep,“ I replied, dragging him away from the Animus and from Rebecca, who giggled at us. She’s been giggling a bit too much these days. „Your self-sacrifice complex is getting out of hand, staying too long in the Animus could be sort of damaging to your little brain. Bleeding effect and so on, does that ring any bells? But you’re too bloody pig-headed to do as you’re told, aren’t you?“

Desmond clutched my hand in an attempt to remove it from his shoulder, but he was weak and his eyelids were closing and I didn’t give up as easily as he probably expected me to. „Leave me be,“ he said, yawning for the upteenth time.

„Only if you spend some quality time with your sleeping bag.“

„I don’t want to sleep, don’t you get it?“

„And I don’t want you to push up bloody daisies, don’t you get it? So just stop being an idiot and go sleep or I’ll sedate you myself.“

At some point during our conversation, Desmond stopped struggling, but he was probably too occupied being a little shit to remember to put his hand away. Which resulted in him sort of unconsciously holding my hand. See, he is the cuddle slut who won’t stop touching me!

„I’m going to ‚push up bloody daisies‘ anyway, so it doesn’t fucking matter,“ said Desmond tiredly.

Oh stop whining, Desmond, I am supposed to be the sceptical one here and I’m sure as hell not letting anyone else take over my position. „If you keep doing your best to get yourself killed, you’ll probably die, you’re right,“ I snapped at him. „You know what? I’m done here. Do whatever the fuck you want, it’s not my duty to watch over you. I’m not your bloody boyfriend.“

With that, I took my hand out from under his and marched over to the laptop, my loyal friend. To hell with Desmond, seriously. Why was he so keen on dying? And why did I even care? I have no reason to be angry. If he wants to be an idiot about this, it’s his problem, not mine.

„Shaun?“ he said quietly from behind my back.

„Yeah, that’s my name, I know. Go away, Desmond.“

„She said maybe I wouldn’t have to die.“

„She? You mean Fortuna?“

„Yeah.“

„What did she tell you?“

„She said she was my only hope... But I think she’s gone now. I guess destroying the virus was too much for her.“

„Your only hope? She’s been watching too much Star Wars.“

„Yeah, totally, because Star Wars so existed back then.“

„The story happened a long time ago in a galaxy far far away. How do we know the First Civilisation wasn’t there?“

„Right,“ Desmond smirked. „Have I told you you’re a fucking nerd?“

„Nerdy is the new sexy,“ I deadpanned. „Now stop thinking about your Roman goddess of a friend and go relax. Okay?“

„Okay.“

Okay? That’s it? No „shut the fuck up, Shaun, I’ll do what I want, you’re not my mother“? Miracles happen, I guess. I stared after Desmond as he was approaching Rebecca to talk her into buying something edible.

I looked away and sighed. There were some database entries that needed finishing. I turned on my laptop, automatically checked my Facebook and...

 

_Mehmet Demir added 21 photos of you._

Fish. Twenty-one pictures of bloody fish.

I hit my head against the desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't say I'm satisfied with this chapter *sighs*... Nonetheless, here it is, I hope it's not THAT awful. Sorry for the late update, I've been busy with school and stuff. Oh and this fic will probably be a bit longer than expected, I couldn't possibly wrap it up within one chapter, so... I'm guessing 12 chapters is the final number (maybe even 13).  
> PS: I've reached 20 000 words! It takes me forever to sweat out a single chapter in English, so I'd say it's a success. Hooray!


	11. Days Eleven to Thirteen

**Day Eleven**

 

Yesterday, I spent an hour tagging photos on Facebook (owls; no matter what the person looks like, you're always going to find their owl-twin). Yeah, I get out of the Animus after nine days and the first thing I do is google owls. What does that say about my social life?

Then I wrote another database entry, this time on...  why would I tell you, it's not like you barbarians even care about my research. But it took me longer than it should, my thoughts kept straying. Since I couldn’t concentrate, I searched for my sleeping bag, following Desmond's example. Ugh, I'm starting to miss Maggie's bed. And sleeping alone felt wrong after all those nights Desmond kept stealing my blanket and breathing on my neck. I lied down not far from Desmond, who was sleeping sound and mumbling something. I tried to catch the words coming out of his mouth, but all I got was something along the lines of „mmmnnemphnnff“, which wasn't very helpful.

Desmond doesn't usually get much sleep and when he does, he still looks troubled. I guess it's his default face, looking slightly troubled and 1000% done with everything. However, that night, he looked more or less peaceful. I wanted to laugh at the irony; everything was going to hell and there he was, seemingly okay all of sudden. 

I am no creeper and mummy taught me well, so I stopped staring at Desmond. Because watching people sleep is what? Watching people sleep is wrong. Well okay, maybe I had some creeper tendencies, I might have looked his way several more times, but that was just because I couldn't sleep and he kept disturbing me with that mmmnnngghh nonsense of his.

 

xxx

 

I woke up what could have been seven centuries later. Desmond was already up and about, William hasn't returned yet and Rebecca was playing solitaire on her laptop. Who the heck voluntarily plays solitaire in their free time?

„And to think I went through all the trouble and installed Fallout on your computer,“ I shouted at her from my sleeping bed, too lazy to get up. Besides, it was quite warm here; not _that_ warm since Desmond was god knows where, but whatever.

I got no response.

„Are you ignoring me?“

„Rebecca has smelly feet!“

Again, silence. I was growing suspicious, so I reluctantly got up to go check on her. Oh, she was sleeping, I should have known - solitaire would put anyone to sleep. She was sitting straight and you'd have no idea she wasn't awake until you got nearer and noticed her eyes were closed.

I was about to take a photo to get some new blackmail material when I spotted a small piece of paper lying on my desk. I frowned and picked it up. One day everyone will stop using my desk as a waste bin, but today was not the day, obviously.

Wait, there was something scribbled on it. It wasn‘t Rebecca's handwriting, although it was just as unreadable.

 

_Hey Shaun,_

_I wanted to say goodbye, but I didn't have the heart to wake you up, so I figured I'd leave a message._

_Thanks for being your annoying self yesterday and forcing me to get some rest, you were right, I needed it._

_I spent like ten hours in the Animus (do you usually sleep that long? Explains why you get nothing done) being Connor (new guy, Haytham's son, long story). We got a lead on the remaining power sources. Dad e-mailed me to let me know he was okay and managed to get his hands on the  power source in Brazil, even though the templars nearly caught him. We‘ve exchanged new information and decided we should travel to Cairo together. I talked to Rebecca and we agreed it would be for the best if the two of you stayed in the temple in case something went wrong._

_We should be back soon, or so I hope._

_If I fall out of a rooftop in Cairo or get stabbed by a templar, I want you to know you're not a total asshole. Actually, I enjoyed Boston, kinda like a holiday. I mean yeah, we got captured and almost killed by Charles Lee, but it was fun. Can't say I had stolen any hats with a fishing rod before._

_So, yeah. Thanks for the nice memories._

_Desmond_

 

You know you're not the kindest person in the universe when you take 'you're not a total asshole' as a compliment. But I'm getting conversational in Desmond dialect and I believe it actually meant 'Shaun you're so cool and awesome and hot, let's make out when I come back'. Okay, maybe leave out the making out part. Although judging from his reaction in Boston, he wouldn't mind that much. He was totally wasted, I know, maybe he thought I was Pamela Anderson, but a boy can dream.

Not that I dream about Desmond. Actually, tonight I had a lovely dream featuring Haytham, Severus Snape and Donna Noble in a shopping centre (don't ask me).

Great, so. Desmond is gone, William is gone, Rebecca is sleeping. And I might die of boredom unless I start doing something.

Desmond mentioned a 'new guy'... Connor, was it? Let's find out something about Connor.

 

xxx

 

Connor is an okay bloke; constantly pissed off, loves petting animals and has this Charles Lee situation that quickly got out of hand. It didn't take me long to dig up some information on him, neither did it take me long to become bored again.

„Rebecca!“ I yelled.

„Mhmm,“ said Rebecca, still half asleep.

„I am bored.“

„Good for you.“

„Let's do something.“

„Yeah! Let's sleep, for example.“

„Let's do something other than that.“

„How about you read the whole bibliography of, I don't know, Agatha Christie, and leave me alone?“

„I don't like Agatha Christie that much.“

That made Rebecca turn around and give me a look of mock surprise. „But she was British!“ she exclaimed.

I sighed, „You know, being born in England doesn't mean that everything British automaticaly turns me on.“

„Good. I'd be kinda freaked out if you were turned on by Agatha Christie. Wouldn't that be necrophilia?“

„I don't like where this conversation went.“

„I can think of a solution!“ Rebecca said. „Let me sleep.“

„No.“

„Well, then I'll keep talking about necrophilia. If you're not into Agatha, how about... I don't know... Who is your favourite dead male British author?“

„Male? That's sexist.“ _You're sexist,_ Desmond would respond if he was here. The poor man is awful at delivering comebacks, he still has much to learn.

„It's not sexist, I just know you prefer the boys,“ Rebecca winked.

„I am not gay, Rebecca.“

„Right,“ she snorted. „Then how will you explain this whole thing with Desmond? Or is Des a girl?“

„What thing?“

„You know what thing, Shaun.“

„I assure you I have no idea what you're babbling about. Maybe I should have let you sleep.“

„Too late!“ Rebecca sang. „Now I want to talk about your huge embarrassing crush on a certain Mr. Miles.“

„I don't have a crush on William.“

„Shaun.“

„I don't have a crush on Shaun, either, although he's a great bloke.“

„Shaun!“

„Yes, Becca dear?“ 

„You're a moron."

 

xxx

 

**Day Twelve**

 

_From: Desmond Miles_

_To: Shaun Hastings_

_The weather here is nice. A bit too hot, maybe, but I like it. Everything goes as planned, we’re not dead yet and Cairo isn’t that far anymore._

_From: Shaun Hastings_

_To: Desmond Miles_

_Good old Cairo! Don’t forget to check the Aqmar Mosque and the Saladin Citadel. They’re beautiful._

_From: Desmond Miles_

_To: Shaun Hastings_

_...you realize I don’t exactly have the time to go sightseeing?_

 

_From: Shaun Hastings_

_To: Desmond Miles_

_There’s always time to go sightseeing, you uncultured peasant._

_From: Desmond Miles_

_To: Shaun Hastings_

_The world is, like, ending? You know that?_

_From: Shaun Hastings_

_To: Desmond Miles_

_Also! The Bab Zuwayla gate is worth seeing.Basicaly, the whole city is a wonder to behold, except it’s so polluted you breathe smog instead of oxygen. Not good for the lungs._

_From: Desmond Miles_

_To: Shaun Hastings_

_You know what’s also not good for  the lungs? Dying._

_From: Shaun Hastings_

_To: Desmond Miles_

_So now you’re a doctor or what?_

_From: Desmond Miles_

_To: Shaun Hastings_

_Yeah. Now turn off your fucking laptop and go do some actual work – doctor’s orders._

_(Btw, I don’t know  crap about historical sights, it would  be no fun without you waxing poetic about every column.)_

„Oh god, Shaun. Are you messaging Desmond again?“ Rebecca rolled her eyes. „What kind of question is that, of course you are, I can tell from the stupid smile on your face. You really have it bad.“

„What the hell are you talking about?“

„Oh, nothing at all,“ Rebecca grinned. „Just, you know. There’s all the cuddling, the making out, the smiling, the bickering...“

„Jesus, what are you, a bloody spy?“ Won’t that woman give me a moment of peace, for god’s sake? „We weren’t cuddling, it’s called sharing body heat, it’s something you do to prevent yourself from freezing to death. The... making out, as you call it, was a means to trick everyone around into thinking we were Whelan and Briggs. The smiling is a lie, I don’t smile, you’re making it up.“

„Wow, what a thought-out pile of bullshit. Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, it seems.“

I grabbed the nearest thing on my desk (it happened to be an apple) and flung it at her. Unfortunately, she ducked and the apple missed her, flying above her head and landing god knows where.

„You’re a mean one, Mr. Hastings!“ she yelled.

 

xxx

 

**Day Thirteen**

 

„Rebecca? Did you get any messages from Desmond?“

„This is the third time today you're asking me that question,“ Rebecca groaned. „No, I didn't, nothing has changed in those fifteen minutes you've been silent.“

Tsk-tsk, Rebecca is constantly dissatisfied. When I don't show enough concern, she calls me heartless and when I do, suddenly I'm bothering her. What does she even want from me?

„Do you think the templars got them?“ I asked.

„Nah. Have a little trust in them, I guess they're just busy.“

„Busy, right. Or the templars captured them and locked them up. Shouldn't we get in touch with our contacts from Cairo and...“

„Oh god,“ said Rebecca, half exasperated and half amused. „How the tables have turned... It's usually me who worries too much and you who shuts me up with sarcastic remarks. Look, Desmond isn't a baby, okay? He can take care of himself.“

Sure. Just leave him on his own for a minute and he'll end up getting drunk with a dead templar and almost getting himself killed. „Sometimes he acts like a baby, though.“

Rebecca pinched my cheek. Ugh. „Not as often as you, little Shaun,“ she smirked.

„Sod off.“

„Okay, I’ll be quiet, but... on one condition.“

„I'm not sure I want to hear it, but... Go on,“ I said.

„Admit that you're worried about Desmond because you like him.“

I should have expected something of the sort. „No.“

„Come on, we both know it's true.“

„No.“

„You miss him, don't you?“

I buried my head in my hands. „Rebecca, seriously... Have you drunk too much wine? Or have you been watching the rerun of Gossip Girl? 'Cause you're acting like a bloody teenage girl. Is this secondary school where the only thing everyone cares about is who likes who?“

„I know exactly who likes who,“ said Rebecca, „I just want you to admit it. You were almost nice yesterday, but now that Desmond isn't answering, you're all frowny and grumpy.“

„I'm all frowny and grumpy because I have to spend too much time with you.“

„You're grumpy because you want Desmond here.“

What the hell was wrong with Rebecca, has she hit her head? I seriously wasn't in the mood for this. I ignored her and turned back to my laptop.

I heard her shout, „You know I'm right.“

Was she? Ah, what does that even matter. I should get used to Desmond's absence. I doubt his First Civ girlfriend will help him, she's probably dead anyway. Dead or insane, for that matter. And if Fortuna is right about what has to happen...

No. She was full of rubbish. I refuse to believe her. No one here is going to die, we've sacrificed enough, for fuck's sake.

„You're going to crush your mug,“ Rebecca warned me. I looked down at my hand. She was right, I was clutching the mug as though the tea I had poured in it had personally offended me. It had, in a way; there wasn't enough milk.

I put the tea down and sighed, „Rebecca? Do you think Fortuna is gone?“

„I have no idea,“ she shrugged. „Hope she isn't.“

„Even if she was alive, she wouldn't be strong enough to defend him from Juno, you know that.“

„Shaun... We put him through the best training possible, he relived the memories of the most powerful assassins in history. It’s in his blood. He can do this, I believe in him.“

I wish I shared her optimism, but every order needs its token pessimist, I am afraid. I suppose she was saying the truth, I _did_ sort of miss Desmond. Sort of. In a way.

He better fucking survive this.


	12. Day Fourteen

_From: Shaun Hastings_

_To: Desmond Miles_

_You alive?_

_From: Shaun Hastings_

_To: Desmond Miles_

_You know it's impolite not to answer people's e-mails._

_From: Shaun Hastings_

_To: Desmond Miles_

_Downright rude, actually._

_From: Shaun Hastings_

_To: Desmond Miles_

_What a brilliant conversation partner you have been these past two days! Look, if you're too busy running around rooftops, chasing the bad guys and snapping at your dad, I get it. But I'm not asking you to write a bloody sonnet for me, all I need is to know you're still alive and kicking. Shouldn't take you that long to type 'yes Shaun I am alive thank you for your concern wow you are so kind and caring'_

_From: Shaun Hastings_

_To: Desmond Miles_

_Come on, mate. Can you imagine how boring this place got now that there's only me and Rebecca? She's driving me nuts. She never puts enough milk in my tea. She actually likes playing solitaire. Help._

_From: Shaun Hastings_

_To: Desmond Miles_

_Fine, be like that. Ignore me all you want!_

_From: Shaun Hastings_

_To: Desmond Miles_

_She's playing solitaire. Again. By the way, she says hello. Also, she says we miss you and hope you are both okay. Ugh, I feel like a courier. She says this, he says that, blah blah blah. I should get paid more, I do everything around here!_

_Anyway, it's a rare occurance, but Rebecca is right. We do miss you here._

 

„You really are a shity assassin, Shaun. I've been standing here and watching you type furiously for about ten minutes and you haven't even noticed,“ said a voice from behind me. What the hell?! Startled, I turned around so fast it was a wonder I didn't break my neck.

Desmond was standing there, his lips turned up in a smirk. „Hey there, Shaun. Missed you guys, too.“

„You're back?“ I asked stupidly. Oh god, what a brilliant question, Hastings, why don't you proudly pat your back? Has your sass gone on holiday?

„Yeah, Rebecca was kind enough to let me in without notifying you, I told her I wanted to surprise you because you always freak out when I do that.

„You traitor!“ I shouted at Rebecca, who was smiling innocently.

„That's your punishment for not admitting The Thing,“ she sticked out her tongue at me. Ugh, the whole world hates me.

„What thing?“ asked Desmond.

„A thing that is none of your business,“ I said a bit too quickly. „Where is your father?“

„Getting some stuff from the car. You still haven't even said hello, by the way.“

„Hello, Desmond,“ I said slowly, placing emphasis on each syllable. „So how was Cairo?“

„We're lucky we're alive. The templars were doing their best to thwart our plans, so I had to go on a trip all the way to Italy and get rid of Cross and Vidic. Long story.“

„You killed the evil grandpa?“ Rebecca exclaimed. „You didn't even mention that!

Desmond shrugged, „It's a good thing he's gone, but still, killing somebody is nothing to be proud of. I did it because I had to, not so that I could brag about it.“

„Sure, Mr. Peacefulpants,“ Rebecca snorted, „you _should_ be fucking proud of yourself. Right, Shaun?“

„Yeah, whatever,“ I shrugged. So we finally got Vidic out of our way, we've been trying to kick his arse for years, but no one before Desmond got even close to eliminating him. Guess I was right about Desmond being better than Clark Kent. „Desmond? What about Fortuna? She still gone?“

„Yeah,“ he murmured, „I'm like 90% sure she's dead. That's just my awesome luck, I guess.“

I wonder what Fortuna could have told us if she had been in a better state. How did she even get like this? Wasn’t the First Civilisation supposed to be this merry bunch of invincible fellows?

„What if Fortuna was a part of the virus?“ I said. „Maybe the templars created her so that they could control Desmond.“

„Man, how many times do I have to tell you I am really me? I. Am. Me. No one else is pulling the strings, god damnit!“ Desmond shouted. „She wasn’t a templar invention, she was real, I could tell.“

„She could have been a top-class virus.“

„Or you’re a top-class moron.“

I had to give a laugh at that. „I am definitely not the moron here.“

„You definitely are.“

„I am definitely not.“

Our intelligent argument was interrupted by William’s arrival. He was carrying some boxes with equipment. Rebecca jumped to her feet, zipped past me and gave him a hand. I frowned deeply and started pressing random keys on my laptop in order to make everyone around think I was too busy to get up and help with the work.

„Shaun! Move your arse and help us!“ Rebecca yelled, putting some of the boxes on ground. Shit. Plan A was unsuccessful, time for plan B. I did stand up, but I took my time, scuffing my feet at a painfully slow pace. Before I got to William, there were no more boxes left.

While grimacing at Rebecca, I noticed Desmond was watching me and smirking. Good to finally have an ally to aid me in getting on Rebecca’s nerves.

Wait. Fuck. I’ve just realised what the arrival of Desmond and William signified. They have obtained the power sources and now we’re ready to reactivate the temple. Well, as ready as we’ll ever be. Help, mum, I don’t want to die just yet... We’re all too young for this. Except for William, but don’t tell him that, he’s quite adept at killing people he doesn’t like.

The more I pondered about about what would follow, the more nervous I got. Nah, _nervous_ didn’t fully capture it; I was fucking panicking. This is what happens when humans pretend to be heroes – it starts with you being all full of yourself and ends with you almost shitting yourself.

I did what any self-respecting Brit would do in a situation like this;  went to make some tea.

Rule number one: Tea always helps.

Rule number two: If it doesn’t help, it only means you haven’t drunk enough yet. Drink more.

Rule number three: Don’t panic.

Rule number four: If you do panic, pretend you’re having a great time and everything is fine and dandy.

Rule number five: The more shits you give, the less stressed you have to look.

 

So, while everyone else was losing their nerves when it hit them that everything would be over soon, I was lazing around in my chair and sipping hot tea with feigned composure.

„How can you be so calm?“ Rebecca gaped at me. I put my mug down and poured some more milk in it, my movements deliberately slow and lazy.

„Why wouldn’t I be?“ I asked her.

She took a deep breath. „It’s time to put those power sources to use. Aren’t you nervous?“

„Nah.“ Yes, I’m freaking out, but you don’t have to know. Leave me alone with my tea. „Are we going to do something instead of staring at one another with eyes wide open like lost puppies?“

„Shaun’s right, being idle won’t help up,“ Desmond agreed, „we should get it over with.

I have (sort of) travelled in time and space, I have been kidnapped by templars, I have killed a man... Basicaly, I've done about everything a person can do, but nothing has felt more surreal than following Desmond right now. I bet Rebecca shared the sentiment, judging from the look on her face. William was trying to look bored, but I could tell how worried he was. He and Desmond were like a fucked up sitcom family, not agreeing on anything except for their favourite colour, but a fucked up family is still a family. Not that I know their favourite colours, I'm just guessing.

„Desmond? What's your favourite colour?“

Desmond stopped. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then he slowly turned around. „Did you really just ask me that?“

„I thought engaging in a friendly conversation would be better than giving one another grim looks.“

„But my favourite colour? Really?“

„Mine is green, if you have to know.“

„Good. I'll buy you an ugly green jumper this Christmas so that you would shut up about the cold.“

It's hard to celebrate Christmas when you're dead, though. „Will you answer my question or do I have to fill in a form first?“

„It's black.“

„Black?“ I made a disappointed face. „Really? That's so emo.“

„Green? Really? That's so... greenpeace.“

„Green is so greenpeace? Wow, what a brilliant association, I applaud you.“

I didn't even notice we’d reached  the door; I was too busy exchanging stupid grins with Desmond and ignoring Rebecca's hushed complains about us being a pair of imbeciles.

Have you ever watched any of those appalling American films where every scene is so cliche it makes you want to puke? Not too long ago, I had nothing better to do and watched one of these with Rebecca at about 2 a.m. I don't remember much because we both fell asleep twenty minutes into the film, however, I recall is this one busty brunette drivelling about her ex. That monologue eventually evolved into some pseudophilosophy on how everything in life is coincidence, especially the important things and blah blah, yawn, somebody fetch me my pillow, please.

But my point is... even I have to admit life works in mysterious ways. How else would you explain my being here instead of instilling wisdom in the brains of history students? Okay, this one is simple, I shouldn’t have leaked super secret information while working at the university and I shouldn’t have let the templars capture me, but... it’s no use crying over spilt milk, is it.

Storytime! When I was three or four, my mum took me to an autograph signing with a local writer whose name I’ve forgotten. I didn't care about what the man had to say, not one bit. I took an immense liking to his black hat though and decided I should become a writer, too. Children logic is amazing, don’t you think? As if nobody but writers was allowed to wear hats. Anyway, it was why I taught myself to read, became a nerdy bookworm and so on, you know the rest of the story. If it weren't for that hat, I might not have spent my early years immersed in children history books and who knows, maybe I would have become a dentist or a baker or a cabbie. Okay, probably not, but one  can never be certain.

I'm saying that realisation loves coming at the least convenient times. One hat made me realise I would never want to be a dentist. And you know what I was doing when I decided I would agree with Rebecca's offer and join the assassins? Brushing my teeth and watching cartoons (no judging, this is a judge free zone). All things considered, it probably shouldn't be _that_ strange to realise that you might be (I said might be, not definitely are) sort of slightly (only slightly) falling for someone, all while discussing greenpeace and waiting for Juno to do something idiotic. No, who am I kidding, it _is_ strange... But honestly, what about me and Desmond wasn’t?

A bright blue light blinded me as Desmond opened the door. We all had to shield our eyes, with the exception of Desmond who just blinked, his face stoic.

So this was it. We were going who knows where to do who knows what, we have only one try and we can't fuck this up. Wonderful, I can't wait.

All I could discern with my eyes still narrowed was a pedestal and two approaching feminine silhouettes. One of them must have been Juno, the other one...

Minerva?

„Yes... Come... Here... at last,“ said a voice that must have belonged to Juno. „You know our story now. Of how we tried. Of how we failed. All our hopes extinguished. Save one. Your touch, a spark. A spark to save the world.“

Ah, of course, more cryptic nonsense full of „sparks“ and „hopes“ and dramatic pauses.

Just as Desmond took a step forward, Minerva yelled: „Wait!“

He stopped, giving her a questioning look.

„Do not touch the pedestal!“ she ordered. „You must not free her! Juno dwells within these walls, awaiting release. I will explain.“

And she did. Unfortunately, her way of speaking was no less irritatingly figurative than Juno’s, but from what I gathered – Minerva built the Eye, Juno double-crossed her and her pals, Minerva took it personally and now the two are arch enemies. Then, Minerva scolded us for wasting so much time and being too late. Seriously? I’d love to see _her_ do half of what we did! She is supposed to be a superior life-form, but we are the ones who did all the job, meanwhile she has been hiding and brooding. She can keep her insults to herself.

„She’s lying!“ Juno cried out. „Only touch the pedestal and the world _will_ be saved.“ Of course! As if things weren’t complicated enough, now one of these two shrews is pulling our legs.

I glimpsed at Desmond, whose face was crinkled with confusion just like mine.

„Better the world burn than she be loosed upon it,“ Minerva hissed. Well, I wouldn’t  be so sure about that.

„Is that so? Show him then,“ said Juno. Show him what?

Minerva shook her head, „He will not understand. It is complicated, it is...“ He will not understand what? What is complicated?! Hello, ladies, would you mind actually _explaining_ what the hell you are going on about? It would be highly appreciated by all present human beings, thanks.

„Show me,“ said Desmond with determination, jutting out his chin slightly.

Something happened. I can only guess Minerva was showing Desmond „it“. All I could perceive was a strong sense of uneasiness and helplessness. Whatever „it“ was, Minerva didn’t want to share it with anyone except for Desmond. How rude.

„They will enslave your kind, Desmond,“ spoke Minerva after a while. „Is this not why you fight? Is this not why you came here? To ensure more than just your race's future, but its freedom?“

Juno laughed bitterly, „What future? What freedom? Billions dead and the whole cycle begun anew? This world has known nothing but heartache and horror since we left it.“ I’m afraid I can’t agree with that, Juno, sorry. I can see you like being a special snowflake, but mankind hasn’t missed you one bit.

„Enough!“ Desmond bellowed.

The silence that fell was deafening. No one dared to speak up; at that moment, the fire in Desmond’s eyes was too menacing.

„Whatever Juno's planning – however terrible it might seem today – we'll find a way to stop it,“ Desmond  continued, „but the alternative, what you want... There's no hope there.“

„If you free her, you will be destroyed,“ Minerva warned him.

„It will happen in an instant,“ said Juno reassuringly. „There will be no pain.“

Minerva was about to shout more abuse, I suppose, but Desmond beat her to it, „It's done, Minerva,“ he said, voice heavy with resignation. „The decision's made.“

Minerva glowered at him, disappointed and upset. „Then the consequences of this mistake are yours to live - and die - with,“ she said slowly, her lips twisting into a wry grimace.

William tensed next to me. Can't blame him, I felt like throwing up myself. And this was his son standing here, deciding the future of the whole human race. What kind of choice was this, anyway? Do nothing to prevent the coronal mass ejection from hitting the Earth or let Juno fly across the world merrily? Not even tea would help with this.

 Desmond stepped away from the pedestal, the three of us surrounding him.

„I have to do it,“ he said. We stayed silent; how are you even supposed to react to shit like this? Nod, cry, faint, run away and establish a cactus farm?

„Come with us,“ William pleaded, „we will find another way.“

Desmond blinked, overcome by emotions. As I’ve mentioned, these two didn’t have the best father-son relationship in the world, but right now, it was painfully obvious just how much Desmond mattered to William. He’d rather let the world burn than sacrifice his son. And judging from the unhappy look on Rebecca’s face, me and her would at least consider doing the same thing. In theory, it sounds like an easy decision, to trade one life for millions. It stops being easy the instant you realise you care more about the one seemingly unimportant person than about the millions.

„The choice is yours,“ Rebecca half-whispered and wrapped Desmond in a tight hug. „To hell with Juno and Minerva, whatever you do now, you're a fucking hero in my books. Thanks for everything.“ Yeah, little assassins will read tales about Desmond, but what sodding good is that? He'll be gone all the same.

When Rebecca finally released Desmond from her embrace, he turned his gaze to me. I swallowed. No witty remarks were coming to me, I just watched him back. He probably wasn't quite sure what to say, either. Goodbyes only make everything worse, don't they?

Desmond gave me a small smile. That's so like him, bloody smiling at me during this stupid mess of a situation. My stomach knotted.

Remember me talking about how weird a thing the human mind is, about how it makes you do the most insane stuff at the least appropriate moments?

Well. I reached forward, grabbed Desmond's collar and crashed our lips together. The kiss was rather short and desperate, more of a 'if you fucking decide to die, i will find a way to bring you back just to kill you again, so don't you even think about it'. Before I pulled away, I felt Desmond respond to the kiss with just as much fervour.

„You should go,“ said Desmond, probably to all of us, but he kept his eyes fixed on me.

„Since when do I do what you tell me?“ I raised my eyebrow and hoped my quickened heartbeat would slow down.

„Since never,“ Desmond admitted with a barely noticeable smirk, „but I'm serious now. Move your asses and get out of here, it's too dangerous.“

„Do I look like I give a fuck?“

„Thing is, I happen to give a fuck about you, so go before I make you,“ he snapped at me.

I wanted to tell him he was full of rubbish, but William's hand on my shoulder stopped me. „He is right,“ said William quietly, „we have to go.“

Rebecca looked like she was about to cry, but she nodded in agreement. I gave Desmond one last pained look and turned around.

The blinding light made a comeback.

We walked away, not glancing back once.

 

xxx

 

We got into a big argument over what we should do next. William suggested that we clear off, I suggested that we go back for Desmond and Rebecca was torn, afraid to say the wrong thing.

„He wanted us to go,“ William said, weirdly distant. „He wanted us to be safe. We can’t ignore his last words.“

When I remembered that Desmond’s last words were actually directed at me, it made me want to smash my head against the nearest wall. „He’s bloody dead now,“ I said bitterly, „we can ignore his words all we want, he isn’t here to see.“

William raised his hand in an attempt to hit me in the face, but this time, my reflexes served me well. I caught his hand in mid-air.

„Don’t talk about my son like that,“ he hissed, barely containing his fury.

„Oh? Listen, I might be a rude bastard, but at least I don’t want to leave him there!“ I shouted.

I felt William’s hand shake and I let go. I know the man was grief-stricken, but for god’s sake, he must listen to reason. I continued, „I know what this is about, you are afraid to come back. You don’t want to see him again. This is not easy on you, no parent should have to go through this, but... look, returning for his body won’t make this more real, even though you think so. I’ll tell you what’s real – Desmond is dead, he’s dead and we can’t change it. What we _can_ do though is get to the temple to prevent the templars from getting his body first. Can you imagine the damage it would cause? Don’t you think this is the least we can do for Desmond after everything, that this is what he deserves?“ I didn’t stop once, not breathing, just spitting out words. My lungs were complaining about the lack of oxygen, but I hardly noticed. I needed William to get my point.

„What you... did there,“ said William, changing the topic, „was it... were you two...“

He didn’t have to specify, of course I knew exactly what he meant. Jesus, the Miles‘ and their idiotic questions. Now I see where Desmond inherited his personality traits.

„We weren’t a thing, if that was what you were trying to ask me,“ I shook my head. „Not that it matters now. What matters is your answer. Have you come around? Will you let us go back?“

William said nothing, his lips didn’t move. I could imagine the battle raging in his head.

Soon after, he gave a curt nod. I sighed with relief.

 

xxx

 

„We made it,“ said Rebecca, „we got here before the templars. Thank god they’re so useless.“

William refused to walk further ahead. He did agree with my plan, but he didn’t want to be the one to get Desmond and I respected his decision.

Me and Rebecca slowly approached the pedestal. Desmond was where we left him, only this time, he was lying on the cold ground instead of standing and yelling at Minerva. I fought the urge to close my eyes. We kneeled beside him, trying to calm down and regain our composure.

When I looked up at Rebecca to ask her if she was ready, I saw a frown on her face. „Rebecca?“

„I think... Shaun, I think he’s breathing.“

„You... what?“

„Look!“

To my astonishment, Rebecca wasn’t making it up. The rising and falling of Desmond’s chest was faint but unmistakable. I drew in a shaky breath.

Rebecca cleared her throat, „Desmond? Can you hear me?“

No response. What a surprise.

„Desmond!“ she raised her voice.

I sighed. This would get us nowhere. I gently pushed Rebecca aside, leant over Desmond and slapped him with all my strength. „Desmond, you have ten seconds to sit up. Otherwise, we’ll leave you here for the templars to pick you up, I’m sure it would make them very happy.“

I didn’t expect it to work, but somehow, it did. Desmond opened his eyes and winced at me, „Was that necessary?“

I couldn’t help but grin, „You faked your bloody death, you scared the hell out of us! If anything, I should slap you again.“

„Sorry,“ Desmond said and, with some difficulty, sat up.

„How are you feeling?“ Rebecca asked, concerned.

„I’ve had better days,“ Desmond admitted, „teetering on the brink of death is not an experience I’d like to relive again. But I’ll be fine, I guess.“

„Shaun was right, you did scare the hell out of us,“ Rebecca smiled.

„Well yeah, obviously. Shaun is always right,“ said Desmond mockingly.

„I am!“

„Sure,“ Desmond smirked. „Like when you were going on about how we would all die here. Or when you thought Fortuna was controlling me. Or...“

„Shut up.“

„Or that one time...“

„Desmond... Shut up or I’ll make you.“

„Oh no,“ Rebecca groaned loudly, „no making anyone shut up, please, not in front of my poor eyes! The make-out session at the pedestal was enough.“

Desmond shrugged, „Well, you heard Rebecca. But if you want, you can shut me up later.“

Rebecca buried her face in her palms. I’d feel sorry for her, but she totally deserved it. „So, what happened?“ she asked, her voice muffled. „Fortuna saved you?“

„Yeah,“ Desmond nodded. „I’m not sure if she shielded me from death or if I died and she revived me, but I guess that’s not important. Anyway, now she’s gone for good, what power she had left, she gave to me. Wish I could thank her...“

„What about Juno, is she free?“ Rebecca said.

„I have no idea.“

„We can find that out later,“ I said, „William is waiting for us. Hey, Desmond... How about you pull your favourite ninja trick on him? I can guarantee you he’d jump out of him skin if you suddenly appeared behind him.“

Desmond started laughing, „God, Shaun. You’re awful.“

„Whatever. You like it.“

„Shut up.“

And if I heard another whine escape Rebecca’s lips, well... I didn’t give a fuck. In the words of good old Joanne Kathleen – all was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, that's the end! The longest chapter of them all.   
> I believe many of you will agree that killing Desmond was the most stupid thing Ubisoft has ever done - and Ubisoft has a history of doing stupid things. My preferred coping mechanism is pretending that AC III actually ended with Desmond and Shaun walking off into the sunset. Hehe. To quote Nick Fury - given that (letting Desmond die) is a stupid-ass decision, I have elected to ignore it. Have I made myself clear, Ubisoft? You suck donkey dick and I hate you.  
> Anywaay, thank you for sticking with this story, I hope you enjoyed it at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it :)  
> In case anyone cares (I know you don't), my tumblr urls are captainenjolsass and zevraninboots. If you want to say hello or send me some hate, I'm ready.


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